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The exact reason why Alastor found the whole predicament entertaining was still a mystery.
To be quite frank, he also wondered how in the world could 𝘝𝘰𝘹 be entertained by so little, but still. There was no pretending that the duo could pass as anything close to normal, but again, this is hell. There could be worse ways to pass the time.
Alastor had expected Vox to be a greedy partner. And he was, truly, just not in the sense he had previously imagined: sure, he was extremely needy and whiny and a literal manchild if stuff didn't go his way, but when it came to Alastor's attention he was so akin to a dog begging for scraps that it was almost painful to see.
Almost.
Once the taboo of intimacy had finally got out of the way (at least the first steps towards it) Vox had gotten addicted to it to the point of insanity at the thought that one day Alastor might decide to stop amusing his whims.
And there was truly no use trying to force his hand. He had made a similar mistake before, and it ended up with a broken screen, a busted lip and almost a decade of uneasy feelings. It had been bad, just shy from the seven years of draft between their infamous fight and the reappearance of the Radio Demon.
But now, once the waters had run clear after the attempted extermination and Alastor was starting to get bored with his little hotel project, Vox could consider himself lucky to be the object of his whims.
One wrong move and he'd be alone again.
Well, not alone. Just in less sophisticated company, unsatisfied, missing the only person that truly s𝘢𝘸 him, his heart bleeding for his missing half.
You know.
In the cream colored attic bedroom of their runaway apartment, hidden on top of an insignificant building bordering Zestial's territory, the two of them were laying around like bored housecats.
Countless polaroids, vintage sepia photos as well as a few modern ones cluttered the walls, between posters of bands and sanguine anatomy studies, all turned slightly orange by a number of moody lamps.
Vox had tried before to be painfully explicit and turned the led lights on red when initiating. The first time Alastor didn't get the hint and he was promptly kicked out of the bed. Another time Vox had tried with the lights off and only his cyan screen illuminating the room, but he found that Alastor's curious gaze on his body was probably his favorite part of the whole thing, so he stopped overdoing the aesthetics and settled for initiating through heavy petting.
Red lights were for whores anyway.
The predicament, the mutually beneficial arrangement, the 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 in question was, with no doubt, a complicated affair.
One could barely call it sex.
Alastor did not fancy casual touches, was a bit iffy over intimacy in general so you could expect how little interest he could have in Vox's games. That's what Vox initially thought too, but surprisingly the Radio Demon finds it quite entertaining, for lack of better words, to be a spectator to his lover's torment.
Vox's now making puppy eyes at him, and Alastor can feel his cyan gaze on himself but still pretends to read. He's gone over the same paragraph for the fifth time when he snaps:
"Darling, I would suggest you took a picture, but you know full well it wouldn't work"
Vox groans, shimming in his place, inching his flat head closer. He lowers the book and finally looks down at him, eyes lidded in elicitation, a red claw caressing the screen.
"Al... is it ok if..."
"If what, dearest?"
He squirms, and his pixelated pupils turn into little hearts, and a soft pink haze stains the interface of his... well, his face.
It couldn't be any more obvious.
"Do I have to?"
"Yes, you have to ask. Use your words, Sha, and I'll consider if I see fit to be of use"
"Ugh... Al, please, can we do it?"
"Still beating around the bush, I see. Well, let's try something different, shall we?"
Vox stops glancing to the side and looks up, eyes comically wide.
"You can touch yourself, and speak freely. We'll do like last time, and if you need more you will ask. You know that not everything is on the table, but I'm feeling quite generous today, and you might be able to convince me to participate more"
The sing-song voice should feel mocking, but it's offering much more than Vox feels he deserves.
"Do we have a deal?"
"You already have my heart, what would you even need my soul for?"
Alastor's smile lowers a bit.
No matter how much Vox insists that he doesn't care about labels and that whatever relationship they have has strong fundamentals on shared feelings, the Radio Demon can hardly feel at ease with the way Vox keeps declaring his undying love for him at any given chance.
He cannot use those words, he will never feel the same. He certainly 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴, of that he's more aware than he wishes he was. But not love. Partnership, perhaps.
Vox, blissfully unaware of his mind's machinations, has moved to untying his sleeping shorts and pulling them down, revealing an unsurprising lack of both underwear and phallic attachments.
Vox's... parts(?) are a mystery to Alastor, but he's learnt not to ask. Apparently the original was a double feature that he kinda doesn't wanna think about right now.
In terms of numbers, Vox certainly owns more phalluses and spent a considerably longer time on their designs and features. The other option was still a bit rudimental, Vox complained that its self lubrication technology wasn't as efficient, but for some reason he still wore it more often than not when he was with Alastor; he'd confided that he had barely trusted the moth with it.
Alastor keeps one hand folded in his lap as the other lingers on the top of his partner's screen, which is now getting pinker and pinker by the second.
"Remind me why you even added this pesky little interface feature?"
"Because... because you like to see me squirm"
"Good boy" he purrs.
"Come on, go for it"
Vox is, in fact, hesitating. He usually jumps right in, especially those few times he wore a phallus. Not being the case, this time he's brushing his carbon fiber claws up and down his body; Al does it on him, sometimes, only one of which had actually been in a sexual context. He likes to pretend he's sizing up his prey, and Vox tries as hard as possible to not show how much he's into it.
Once the cyan claws finally reach his nether region he retracts them from one hand, while the other keeps caressing skin until he's keeping his lips spread open as if in offer.
Alastor thinks he's comfortable playing into this:
"Just like that darling, let me see you"
And just like that Vox's tension melts into something different, as he's arching his back to show off. Al slowly moves both his hands to wrap around his gilled waist to drag Vox more to the side, so that his hips are raised at an higher angle on top of Alastor's knees.
He might be absurdly inexperienced for somebody as old as he is, but after almost a hundred and fifty years he's learned a trick or two. That, and he's recently decided to document himself on the matter.
While from 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 type of novels one might learn little more than bad pillowtalk, he's found a couple sexuality essays and anatomical papers that inspired him.
Vox seems taken aback by the move, perhaps because Alastor usually doesn't really care much for positions. But this way he already feels like he's floating, and he could even easily reach up to Alastor if he wanted. He doesn't, not yet, but he's sure he will get there.
The screen tilts back as Vox spreads his legs more, breaking the illusion of a La Pietà pose, while Alstor's hand goes back cradling his neck.
Vox's skin is a dark matte shade of ultramarine blue, with a velvety feel to it like silicone. He only brights up in neon cyan on his chest, where he sports nipples in the form of usb ports and on the side of his ribs, where shark-like gills are the covering of his temperature-regulation vents.
And, of course, his vulva.
The inner part of it almost shines in the low light, and Alastor has the sudden need to put his tongue on it.
Mind you, it's just oral fixation, it's not the first time he would get to sample Vox and it would be for his own pleasure, or rather curiosity. He knows how much Vox would be overjoyed with it, but maybe it's too soon.
Vox's clawless hand joins his twin and begins tracing patterns up and down the inner lips.
It appears like he's massaging the faint moisture around, collecting it on the pads of his middle and ring finger and spreading it around the hood of his clitoris.
For once Al doesn't feel eyes on himself, so he turns to Vox's screen and finds him staring at the ceiling, transfixed.
"You are being awfully quiet, my dear. Is the dried paint so distracting?"
Vox looks up at him.
"I-I'm sorry Allie, it's just... nevermind"
"I thought I told you that you can speak freely. Is my gaze on you too imposing?"
From the shiver that follows it appears that the media demon doesn't mind one bit.
"I like it. I like that you seem genuinely interested in the act, even if it doesn't excite you. It's just that I keep wishing for more, for your hands on me, and I keep trying to remind myself that I can't ask you of that, and that makes me lose my focus" he admits.
"Hm hm. I see. Is this why you kept the claws on the other hand?"
Vox nods, blushing even more. His vents are working overtime to avoid overheating, and they still haven't even reached the main act yet.
"You wish that it was me caressing you? Or do you wish for me to be rough, scraping your skin to make you shiver? Or, perhaps you'd rather have my weight on you, pinning you down, making you 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 it?"
"Ye-yes! Al please!"
"Tell me, darling, indulge my curiosity"
The fingers between his legs have begun a more direct attack, and Alastor's tilted face and soft lidded gaze guide Vox to elaborate.
"I want you to overwhelm me! I-I want to be so out of it that I can barely tell a kiss from a pinch or a bite... but right now even if-
ugh, even if you touch me I'm going to cry"
"Then cry, Sha, there's no shame in that"
The minx says, a red tipped claw delicately fondling one of the antennae on top of his screen.
True to his word, Vox screams and his eyes fill with pixelated tears. His inputs are so sensitive, and Alastor knows how to handle them. Only he knows.
With that thought, he's suddenly close.
He tries to close his legs, but in a second Alastor's other hand grips his knee and throws it to the side, and he immediately yields. It feels so good to be manhandled, but right now he's aching for completion.
"Good boy, keep it up. You can have as many as you want tonight"
Now tears are actually running, and he feels Al's fingers on his face to wipe them away, even if they're just digital.
"Al... I need-" he sobs.
"I'm here, darling, tell me"
"Keep touching the antenna!"
Alastor does, and Vox's body tenses like a bow, throwing his head back.
He struggles some more, but the movements of his hand look desperate and almost painful.
"You can do it, my little receiver" Al murmurs, trying every move he knows will get the job done.
"I can't!"
"Yes you can! Whatever is the issue now?"
"Just... the lube, I need some of it, it's in the drawer-"
Alastor is quicker: he holds up a hand and spits on it: the tar-like substance probably wouldn't feel as good as artificial lubrication but it will make do.
Vox gasps as he feels another hand reach his own. A bead of Alastor's saliva drips thickly on him, but most of it is still on the claws.
"Oh yes, please! Just spit on me!"
Alastor rolls his eyes, but to be frank he's heard worse coming from that mouth.
And he's so famished for a bite that he's already salivating anyway.
His eldritch tongue rolls out like a ribbon, and he spits a generous amount where Vox is keeping himself spread open.
Surprisingly he doesn't attempt at penetration, he just keeps rubbing and rubbing as the squelching sound and the engorged faux skin are all Alastor's eyes can focus on.
The sensation on his antenna gets Vox by surprise as both of his partner's hands are on his lower body, one claw dancing over his tummy and the other hand gripping a blue thigh, possessively holding it against his chest, so it's undoubtedly one of Alastor's shadow tentacles coiling above his screen.
He doesn't want to come, not yet, even if the sweet torture is threatening to permanently damage his overheating CPU: Al has never been so involved before. It feels like a treasure, a gift that he doesn't want to let go of just yet.
He feels like such an asshole for thinking that, Alastor is always so patient with him, he always lets his boundaries be bent and one day Vox is inevitably going to ask for too much and ruin it all...
But the touch feels so good, and the mindless rubbing of his own fingers has him just on the verge of it.
And so he lets himself fall, to the sound of Alastor's filter-free voice coaxing him sweetly, system shutting off for a few seconds as he crests over his first wave.
The room is dark for a matter of seconds.
It's always such a pity when it happens like this: Vox wakes up to a pleasantly tingly feeling, but he doesn't get to experience directly the full capacity of the orgasm.
Just its direct aftermath, the sticky mess and, on a lighter mode, a very pleased deer splayed on his chest.
Wait, what?
As Vox's eyes focus on his partner's figure he finds that he's been lied against the pillows, still on top of the covers, and Alastor is laying right on top of him, chest down, feet swinging behind like a silly schoolgirl.
"Ho ho! Look who's back on the air! My good pal, don't you know that it's rude to not hang around after the show to avoid the applause?" He teases.
Vox just smiles wider, smitten by the cuteness: Al can play coy and put the mask back on for a second, but he knows how much this mattered for him. If he didn't care for it he would simply not get involved.
In fact, the Radio Demon nuzzles closer, as if to whisper away from the prying eyes of an imaginary audience:
"Was it good?"
"It was amazing Al. I just wish I had been more present... but that's on me, I guess, it can't really be helped"
"If you insist on drawing it out so much everytime we should consider investing in a server room to avoid your blue screening, don't you think, Sha?"
Vox mumbles something as he rolls his eyes, but Alastor adds more:
"Although I imagine you'd much prefer some more training sessions, perhaps your stamina is just too low~"
"Are you serious? Nah man I don't think I will ever get used to you looking at me like that"
"Like what, dear?"
"Like you genuinely want to take a bite out of me"
That's surely not what Alastor expected to hear.
Before his seven year sabbatical, when they weren't even an item yet, Vox had said something among the same lines, but finished it with 'as if you loved me'.
Both english and french are particularly vague on specifying whether that expression means a romantic or platonic feeling. Other languages are more specific -he's head Angel say 𝘵𝘪 𝘷𝘰𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦 to Charlie before- but even though he knew which one Vox meant, he's glad to have been left with the benefit of the doubt.
It's a sour thought that of not being able to reciprocate. Or at least it is when he genuinely cares about the person that burns so much for him.
This time, however, it's not just Vox's impression. He 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 is famished.
"Thought it'd be rude to ask for an encore"
"It doesn't have to be sexual!" scrambles Vox immediately, "I mean, it will likely be for me, but I can keep it to myself... if you're game, of course"
"Are you being serious?"
"Of course!"
"You would let me, an infamous cannibal and serial killer, bite you... and what does that say about you, dear?"
"That I'm a pain slut and an attention whore, I suppose" scoffs his partner.
Alastor considers the scene for another moment, looking up at his face from below his lashes: "How would you want me?"
"In any way that you would want to try, Allie. You know that already.
You know, I shouldn't be the only one who's allowed free speech, you're also free of saying whatever. You're the one with stronger limits, I'd like to have a clue about how you're overcomplicating this in your head"
"When you placed yourself in such a way, like a feast, I did desire to take... a more hands-on approach. But I fear it has less to do with physicality and more with bloodlust"
"Lust is lust" shrugs Vox, "I'm in no position to judge"
"So you would allow me to consume your flesh?"
"Ok maybe not that. Or not worded like that, it feels intense... you can definitely draw blood, just mabe avoid chomping down? Or ripping flesh? Not that I wouldn't enjoy it, but I guess it would take too long to regenerate"
"I see..."
Alastor shimmies upward, mindful of not kneeing him anywhere sensible, and nuzzles closer against his neck.
The solid rectangle of Vox's head is hard to angle right, but with a few pillows moved to the side they manage to make it arch away, leaving space for Alastor to breathe against his neck.
He's done this before, he just assumed Vox's shivers to be of fear rather than anticipation.
This time instead of just nibbling, barely applying pressure he tilts to the side, opens his mouth and places both rows of teeth against the meatiest part of his neck. He moves a bit, pinprick mapping his wake, and then right as Vox tries to voice a protest at the teasing the maw pierce him.
Vox let out a strangled cry, body convulsed between getting closer to Alastor and pushing him away. It lasts just a moment.
The wet push of a tongue makes him melt against the pillows, and the slight burn turns into tingly pleasure.
All he can see of the Radio Demon are the long lines of his back and legs, straddling him, and the muted movement of his tail waggling under his nightshirt.
When Alastor leaves a parting kiss to his neck and his face is visible again Vox notices that his pupils have turned into dials, and the content hum tells him that, apparently, he doesn't taste bad at all.
"Happy?"
"V̴̧̄̒̚͝e̵̼̱̹͆ȓ̶̺̰̎̚y̴̭͈̠͔̑"
"You can do that again, it felt kinda good".
Al's smile turns face-splitting as he roams his eyes on Vox's naked form to choose where to indulge next. He is intrigued by the pecs, but they feel too tough under his hands. Perhaps the side of his lower waist?
He crawls back onto his feet, and raises one of Vox's legs up against his body, exposing his inner thigh.
There it is.
Vox is already whining as Alastor descends and makes a meal out of his thigh.
He laps at the skin, as if buttering him up, then unhinges his jaw once more and bites. This time he chews, but keeps the bite relatively shallow.
Vox can see into his eyes the moment the taste of his blood hits him: they're flashing red, and he looks positively transfixed between his legs, holding him so tight.
He finally lets the jagged flesh go, and instantly circles it with kitten licks and small kisses, as if in apology.
The half lidded look and the care of his touches is an anguishing contrast against the ache of his bite, and then when he smiles his teeth are stained red.
Vox can 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 the way a new splash of arousal is dripping out of him at the sight.
This was an horrible idea.
"Are you feeling ok, dearest?"
He doesn't trust his voice not to falter, so he just nods, eyes wide.
"I didn't bite your tongue off yet, did I?"
It shouldn't sound as hot as it does, but Vox's wires are somehow so crossed that they end up circling back into matching Alastor's creepy flirting.
The deer cradles his screen into his hands and dives into the kiss, letting Vox scrape his luminescent tongue against his bloodied teeth.
They part with a zap of electricity, when Vox realizes that he's mindlessly rubbing his core onto Alastor's thigh.
His screen blushes furiously, but for once he doesn't feel like he's about to be kicked out of the bed.
"So you 𝘥𝘰 want an encore"
"And what if I do? The refractory period is pretty minimal with this one"
Alastor looks back at his gored thigh, and then at the crux of his legs, pondering.
"I want to try something"
Vox is already ascending the heavens, so he mumbles something about how anything Alastor wanted to do could only bring him higher, snapping his eyes closed, facing the ceiling.
Suddenly he feels a sort of intrusion against his folds, and he barges his eyes open, thinking it might be Alastor's hand.
It isn't, but Vox doesn't have it in himself to be disappointed; it is a tentacle, the feeling of it so alien and illogical - after all they are completely weightless, and at the same time feel so solid. It's like being touched by 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.
The strand of void circles his entrance, caressing the sides of his vulva, gathering slick. Vox has the strange feeling of being scooped like a pudding, the way Alastor's touch barely registers as sexual.
Of course, blinded by lust and oversensitivity as he is, he can't do much more than moaning obscenely.
"I wonder how different it tastes" comments the Radio Demon, and luckily Vox still has the mental capacity to look down at him in confusion.
The tentacle leaves him and Al brings it to his mouth.
Vox is, apparently, suffering from severe blood loss.
"Mmh.
Yes, this one's different. It almost tastes like those vapid energy drinks you sometimes bribe me into trying"
Damn artificial lube.
Vox barks a laugh, and he would almost be too distracted to continue if he wasn't about to come again just at the sight of Alastor's long tongue lapping at the appendage.
"Already? You flatter me, my dear, it takes too little to bring you to completion?"
"Nngh, Al, please! A little mo-oRE"
The tentacle returns, bullying his way inside him. Alastor is touching him, claws pressed against his knees, keeping them open, a number of coils of darkness caressing him, lapping at the bites, squeezing at his biceps, one even tracing the border of the USB port of his right nipple.
Suddenly, a burning sensation hits him there.
"Al?"
"Feel me, darling. Give me everything you've got"
Vox arches in bliss, pushing back against the too slow rhythm of the makeshift dildo, as Alastor's controlled frequencies invade his senses, shocks of a current so different yet so akin to his own that his body only amplified it all in a concert of pleasure.
"Just like this, my good boy. I love seeing you like this"
Alastor's smile is that of a predator, eyes so radiant that it's painful to keep eye contact. But Vox can handle it.
"O-only for you!"
The tentacles trembles as if the praise exited them as well. The one deep in his cunt picks up the pace, pushing in at such a perfect angle, as another joins it in tandem, rubbing against his clit.
Vox sees white for a moment, but he's still there.
Al never kisses him while they do this, he's to rapt on watching him come apart. In a sense, it's Vox's pleasure that fuels and satisfies him, whether he's actively touching or not.
But this time, as Vox hits the apex of his climax, body repeatedly slammed against the pillows, fans working overtime, hands gripping at the sheets like a lifeline, and finally comes with the most ungraceful of mewls, he forcefully holds his eyes open to drink in Alastor's reverence, crimson eyes fixed on his digital ones.
He doesn't blue screen this time, but has to shake his screen in pleads to stop the physical stimulation, content to just be held there as he flutters down.
His partner has seen how at this point he usually just holds his hand where it is, applying pressure, and is grateful as he does so feeling the faint pulse of his love's folds against the tentacles.
Vox's clock rate gradually slows down to the regular frequency, and he whines at Alastor to get him to retract the tentacles.
Cyan claws cradle his face into the grin of his screen, and Alastor pecks at it with intent, feeling Vox's body finally satisfied, relaxed against his.
It's not a makeout-kinda-night.
It's fine, they're both exhausted anyway.
"Not too much?"
"Hell nah babe, that was hot as shit. Next time bite me while you fuck me"
Blurts out the tv.
"You're insufferable"
Scoffs Alastor, with a playful grin still tight on his lips.
"You're ok? Do I need to give you space?"
The deer shakes his head, snaps his fingers to get rid of the evidence of their activities and finds home into the crook of Vox's neck, the fluffy point of his ears tickly against the faint burst of electricity on the screen.
In no time Vox's face morphs into the featureless animation of a zzz gif, and the two slide contently into sleep.