Chapter Text
Vox will be the last one to admit that sometimes, in the heat of the moment, caught up in the thrill of victory, he can be a little...forgetful.
But in this case, maybe (and just maybe) when he’d booked it with Alastor and barked at the driver to take them to Vee Tower, he had overlooked one teeny, tiny, itty bitty flaw in his otherwise great plan.
Which is sneaking Alastor up ten stories without being seen by reporters, employees, customers, and the handful of onlookers outside staring at his cool-ass building, reflecting on their sad miserable afterlives and how they were doing damnation all wrong.
Which is usually great.
They’re all losers and they should feel bad about it.
It is why he’d had pamphlet stands bolted into the sidewalks outside, listing all of the amazing benefits, programs, and jobs provided by Voxtek. They even have QR-codes on the back that took them to an application website. All they need is ten references, five years of experience, a college degree, and a $20 convenience fee for submitting their application online.
OR they can bypass all of that by signing over their soul.
Let it never be said that Voxtek doesn’t provide options.
He’s especially proud of that little brain-nugget. He’s duped—oh, sorry, hired—a fuck-ton of miserable losers that way. However, as they drew closer to the tower and he remembered the crowd of reporters always camped outside the doors (as well as the talentless fuckers rifling through pamphlets) he wishes, for once, Vee Tower was empty.
Velvette comes to the same conclusion as him where she’s leaning against the door, looking out the window. “Well, this is a problem.”
“Yep,” Vox says over her shoulder, popping the ‘p.’
Alastor peers over both of them and barks a laugh. “Didn’t think this far ahead, did you? Hahaha! I’d like to say I’m surprised, but you always did have a tendency to bite off more than you can chew. Ah, nice to see that some things never change.”
Vox glares at him over his shoulder, screen brightening just a few shades lighter. “Yeah, well, you can just, just sit there and shut up!”
“Eloquently said.”
“He’s got a point, Vox. How are we getting in there?” Velvette asks. “Since you’re so dead-set on keeping him a secret.”
“Uh, hm.” Vox rubs the bottom of his screen for lack of a proper chin. “There has to be another way inside. A back-door? Or an emergency exit?”
“You mean like,” Velvette wrinkles her nose, “a servants door?”
Vox looks just as sick at the thought, but nods. “Yeah, something like that.”
She shudders.
“It’s for the greater good, Vel.”
“You owe me big time for this one.”
A quick inquiry with the driver reveals a private parking garage in the back, which makes sense. The limos need to be parked somewhere. He really was a helpful guy, that driver. Very professional, well-spoken, and not even ugly! Vox felt a little bad when he’d grabbed the angelic knife they kept stowed in a compartment under the seats (can never be too careful!) and slit the guys throat. Can’t risk him running his mouth, afterall.
“Hmm, pity,” Alastor says, stepping over the puddle of blood pooling around the driver’s head.
“You’re telling me,” Vox grumbles, cleaning the knife on the back of Alastor’s shoulder, to which Alastor jerks away from with a cute, crinkled nose. “You’re a lot of trouble, you know that?”
“Oh, forgive me. I’ll try to be more considerate of my kidnappers going forward.”
“It wouldn’t hurt.”
Sneaking him into the tower was a little easier after that. All they needed to do was find an elevator, which wasn’t too much of a problem. Anybody unfortunate enough to be in a hallway they needed to go down Vox electrocuted with enough juice to drop them dead—yes, he will be docking their pay, can’t have people sleeping on the job), leaving behind the aroma of cooked meat.
“Mm, doesn’t smell too bad,” Alastor comments over Vox’s shoulder, which he’d been thrown over because Vox is a brute and Alastor may have been dragging his feet a little.
“Of course you’d think that.”
They make it to Valentino’s floor with little issue.
Vox kicks open the door. “Weeee’rrre baaaack!”
Valentino hauls himself up from the couch he’d been lounging on, emerging out of the cloud of smoke he’d puffed over his head.
“Welcome home,” he greets them excitably. “You brought presents?”
Vox lifts Alastor off his shoulder, plops him on his feet, and spins him around, revealing him to Valentino with his arms spread wide for flair. “Tada!”
Valentino tilts his head. “Mhm,” he says, thoughtfully, pressing his fist to his mouth with a squint, like he’s not entirely sure what he’s seeing. In a rare, unforeseen turn of events, Vox can’t tell what he’s thinking.
Then Valentino grins and cocks his hip. “Damn, Papi, I knew you were crazy but this is,” he whistles, long and impressed. “But alright, I’m into it. He’s a little thin. It'll be hard to take both of us, but with enough prep—”
“What? No, no Val, he isn’t a--” Vox starts explaining, waving his hands to cut him off, but Alastor takes matters into his own hands by stepping toward Valentino, lifting his foot, looking up at the pimp with an expression that says ‘Okay, ready?,’ to which Valentino cocks his head at, intrigued, before promptly slamming his foot into his kneecap.
“OW! MOTHERFUCKING FUCK!” Valentino hops backward, gripping his leg. “Vox! You’re pet just broke my fucking knee!”
Alastor’s yanked back and quickly finds himself upside down, dangling in front of Vox from one of his cords. “Alastor, what the hell?!”
“Oh please,” Alastor rolls his eyes. “It’s not broken. We would’ve heard it snap if it was.” Sadly. He figured demons were sturdier than your average human, but damn.
Valentino’s angry cursing comes to a dead stop as Vox’s words sink in. “Did you just call him…” he looks at Alastor, large, round insect eyes widening in awe. “Is that—”
“Oh yeah, it is!” Vox cackles, dropping Alastor on his feet so he can prop his arm on his head. “The one and only.”
Valentino drops himself on the glass table near the couch, knee otherwise forgotten. “Well, this got interesting. How the fuck did you manage to turn the Radio Demon into this.”
Vox opens his mouth, a finger in the air to explain, but he drops it a second later, looking down thoughtfully. “Huh. You know, I don’t actually know how this happened. We kind of just found him like this.”
“Didn’t stick around to ask questions either,” Velvette laughs, turning around where she’d gotten comfortable on the couch and propping her head on the back of her hand. “Vox grabbed the fucker and ran. You should’ve seen the look on the princesses face! Here, I took a picture.” She lifts her phone, showing off a picture of Charlie with her face twisted in panic and tears streaming down her cheeks. She and Vox snicker.
“Ooh, he’s a pretty one,” Valentino says, leaning forward to get a closer look at Alastor. Alastor’s smile sharpens and Valentino’s knee twinges. He winces, rubbing the sore spot. “And feisty.”
“And completely powerless!” Vox adds near frothing at the mouth.
“I guess some wet-dreams do come true,” Valentino leers, smirking when Vox clears his throat and straightens his bow-tie. He puffs on his cigarette and leans to the side, craning his neck to look behind the two of them. “You really didn’t grab Angel while you were there?"
Vox scowls. “No, Val, your whore is still at the rehab hotel.”
Valentino frowns and crosses his lower set of arms. “You said you had a present.”
Vox gestures emphatically at Alastor.
Velvette pipes up, “He’s kind of like a present. Not everyone can say they have a human down here.”
Valentino scoffs and crosses his legs, casting his face to the side like a scorned lover. “I’m happy for you an all, mi amor, but he,” he jabs at Alastor with his cigarette holder, “is your present, not ours.”
“Nuh-uh,” Vox says defensively, which might’ve been more convincing if he didn’t immediately pull Alastor against his body.
“I get to dress him up,” Velvette says. She pauses her scrolling and snaps her head around, narrowed eyes peering over the armrest. “I do still get to dress him up, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Vox flaps a hand at her. “Later.”
“Ugh,” Valentino scoots off of the ottoman to drape himself over the couch, shoulders slouched. “You got me all excited for nothing.”
“Aw, come on, Val,” Vox lets go of Alastor’s shoulders—a wise decision; Alastor was calculating how much jaw strength he needed to bite off his fingers—and crosses the room to lean over Valentino and crook up his chin. “I’ll get you a present. Anything you want.”
Valentino pretends not to care for two seconds before looking up at him coyly. “Anything?” He hooks his finger into Vox’s bow-tie and pulls him closer.
Vox returns his salacious smile. “Anything.” He winces. “Riiiiiight after I—” Valentino huffs and throws himself back against the couch with a scowl, “—show Alastor the—” Vox freezes and whips his head from side to side. “Where the fuck did he go?!” He whirls around, tail-coats spinning as he searches for Alastor, who’d mysteriously vanished from his spot in the room.
The other two look around from the seats but make no attempt to get up.
“Oh, that little asshole. I swear, when I find him—” Vox flicks his wrists and a hologram pops in front. He brings up the security feed before zaps away through a camera in the corner and reappears in the next room just as Alastor wrenches one of the windows open.
“And where the hell do you think you’re going?” Vox demands, picking him up off the windowsill just before can jump out on the terrace.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Alastor spits, squirming in his hands.
“Uh, yes?! Bitch?! Do you know how high up we are?”
Alastor shrugs, giving up on trying to wriggle free and folds his arms. “I was only looking around.”
“Well don’t! You’re not allowed to wander, got it?”
“I’ll take your suggestion into consideration.”
“You’ll take my suggestion as a fucking order!”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“Oh-ho-ho, keep talking shit and I’ll throw you out the window myself!”
“Ha!” Alastor’s eyes twinkle in challenge. “Do it.”
Vox glowers, then tucks him under his arm. “Later. Right now, you are going to be a good little captive and stay put.”
Alastor blinks a pair of wide, round eyes at him, all but missing a halo and wings when he says sweetly, “Oh, of course. I’ll be the most perfect little captive.”
Vox’s lips press into a thin line and he readjusts his grip on him, forcing himself to look away from such sinful brown eyes. “Good,” he mutters. “You better. Or I’ll feed you to Shok.wave.”
Alastor cocks his head. “Who?”
It turns out, Shok.wave is a massive bio-engineered, techno-organic shark that lives in a massive tank that’s built through several floors of the tower. The giant monstrosity of an animal-machine-hybrid has a single, massive red eye, air filters on its sides, dorsal fins longer that Alastor’s body, rows upon rows of metal teeth, and glinting, jagged spines down its back.
“Hewwo my little Shok.wave,” Vox greets his pet, cooing and awing as he presses his face flat against the glass, and consequently, Alastor’s too as he’s still tucked under his arm. “How’s my wittle baby doing? Who’s the bestest boy ever? Look at what I got!” He holds Alastor up for the shark to see.
Shok.wave instantly perks up, eye flashing brighter, and drifts toward the top of the tank.
“Nuh-uh-uh, he’s not for eating,” Vox wags a finger at him. He considers that and adds. “Yet. We’ll see how I’m feeling if he keeps being an annoying piece of shit.”
“Your wittle baby looks disappointed,” Alastor comments.
Shok.wave, indeed, sags and Vox presses himself against the glass again, indifferent to Alastor’s attempts at peeling himself off the aquarium. Between the glass and Vox’s body, he is not successful. “Aww, it’s okay Shoky. How about a treat? You want a treat?” Vox pulls up another hologram, this one with a picture of his assistant, Ethan, who picks up on the first ring.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Ethan, hey, find out who our lowest earners are this month and send them to my office.”
“Yes, Sir. Would you like them covered in fish guts again?”
“Hmm, why not? Put some shrimp in their pockets too.”
“Bound and gagged?”
“Nah, Shok.wave likes chasing them.”
“They'll be right up, Sir.”
Vox ends the call.
“Boss of the year,” Alastor drawls.
“Nothing but a little, healthy work-place incentive to inspire everyone to do their best.”
“Uh-huh.”
Granted, it is entertaining watching Shok.wave chase down and consume his frantic prey when they’re all dropped into the tank at once. Blood quickly thickens the water and Vox coos and aww’s, cheering his ‘bestest boy’ on.
Halfway through, Alastor uses the opportunity to sneak away.
Sadly, he’s only got three of the vent’s screws undone before Vox finds him again.
Damn it.
Vox takes away his “walking privileges” by his fifth escape attempt, binding Alastor’s legs and arms so his only way of sneaking away is either bunny hopping or wriggling across the floor like a worm. Not that he gets the chance to try either option, as Vox keeps him tucked under his arm, hovering in the air with cables, or carried princess-style in his arms.
Fortunately, Vox runs out of places to take him early on. He’s still adamant about keeping Alastor a secret (for just a little longer, promise!) which leaves them stuck in the penthouse. Once Vox realizes he has no fancy, state-of-the-art rooms to brag about, he returns to his office to catch up on paperwork. Who’da thunk? He does actually contribute more than noise to this big ol’ company of his.
He sits Alastor on the desk, within arms reach, and sinks into his (much fancier) office chair with a resigned sigh at the stack of papers left by his assistant. Another surprise! He still uses paper instead of signng off on everything via his screens. How old-fashioned! How antiquated! Oh, how the modernized have fallen!
Ten minutes pass before Alastor grows tired of swinging his legs over the edge of the desk and bored of watching Shok.wave stare hungrily at him over Vox’s head. He turns and sits cross-legged, waiting for Vox to look at him so he can properly express how dull his life is. Vox’s attention stays on the papers.
Alastor sighs.
Vox doesn’t look up.
Alastor sighs louder and more heavily.
Vox continues to ignore.
Alastor kicks over a cup of pencils and Vox jump, whipping his head toward him and demands, “Why?!”
“I’m bored,” Alastor complains,.
“So what? This is what happens when you don’t listen. Maybe if you’d stopped trying to hide, I’d let you walk around.”
“Your shark won’t stop staring at me.”
“Good. Keep being annoying and I’ll throw you in his tank.”
Alastor sighs again and flops down, as carefully as he can, to stare at the ceiling.. “No you won’t,” he grouses. “You would’ve done it by now.”
Vox huffs but doesn’t argue, and the sound of pen on paper returns. Alastor rolls his head to the side, watching Vox ignore him again. He allows it for 2.5 seconds before throwing his leg out, onto the contract he’s working on, and with a shove from his heel, sends it flying off the desk.
“Motherfucker!” Vox shoves his leg away. “Would you fucking stop already?”
“No. I’m bored.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of being a dick?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Well, you know what,” Vox drags a hand down his face in exasperation before jabbing his pen at Alastor again. “Do you know how easy it’d be to kill you right now?”
“Very easily, I imagine!” Alastor chirps.
“I, we—well, yeah,” Vox fumbles, obviously expecting more of a fight. “Exactly. So I’d watch it.”
Alastor rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Oh please.”
“Don’t you ‘oh please’ me. Stop acting like you have any say here. I decide where you go. I decide whether you live or die. You are mine.”
“And you’re mind-numbingly boring.” Alastor retorts and lifts his head to look at him. “I’ll admit, I was a little worried when you carried me off here, but apparently, it was for nothing. All this power over me and you won’t even do anything with it. Do you ever get tired of being disappointing?”
“Oh-ho-kay, motherfucker, do you want me to feed you to my shark?”
“At this point, yeah. Kind of. But it’d just be another example of how unoriginal you are. Killing me, Vox? Really? How basic. Any brainless fool on the street could think of that one.”
Electricity sparks between Vox’s antennas and he shoots to his feet in anger, slamming his hands onto the desk. “As if you wouldn’t do the same if our positions were reversed! As if you wouldn’t kill me the second you saw me!”
Alastor meets his eyes. “No, actually, I wouldn’t.”
Vox recoils, mouth opening and closing, dumbfounded by the genuine honesty in his voice. “Oh.” He says after a moment and sinks into his chair, feeling strangely at a loss. With only four words, his crackling anger had been snuffed out, as cold as if it’d never been there. He looks away. Glances at Alastor. Looks away again. Leans against the armrest and clears his throat. “Yeah? And...” he picks self-consciously at the desk, “and why’s that?”
Alastor sits up to properly face him, smile so gentle it riles the swarm of butterflies in Vox’s stomach. “Well I thought it was obvious,” he says, looking up through his lashes, glasses reflecting the glow of the tank, with a voice so painfully soft it punches a hole in the cavity of Vox’s chest. Vox tugs on the collar of his shirt, a blush illuminating his screen, but before he can anything that would, no doubt, embarrass him later, Alastor brightly adds,“It’d be WAY too easy!”
Vox throws his arms up. “MOTHERFUCKER!”
“What would be the point?” Alastor carries on, unperturbed. “Where’s the fun? The challenge? There’d be no satisfaction in it whatsoever. Why, if I wanted to squash a bug, I’d just stroll through the park, and that would still take more effort than killing you.”
“I, who, wha-what—who do you—why are you LIKE this?!”
Alastor leans back, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I don’t actually know. Could be I was born this way. Perhaps genetics." He meets Vox's eyes. "Or maybe it’s from over-exposure to mediocre, fame-obsessed, unimaginative nitwits who think they can cover up their inadequacy with cheap, manufactured ‘perfection.’ when all they really want is a smidgen of attention from someone who will never, ever give it to them.”
Silence.
“Hey, Vox, I need you to sign off on these—” Velvette pauses in the doorway of his office, sentence tapering off as she notices Alastor sitting off to the side of Vox’s desk, not on it or in his lap, as she had expected. No, he’s bound to an office wheelie chair. Cords snaked around his body, keeping his arms behind his back and his legs tied. It doesn’t keep the slouch out of his shoulders or the annoyed furrow of his eyebrows
But what’s weirdest is the scrap of fabric fastened over his mouth with a frown stitched across it in blue thread. She hasn’t known the Radio Demon for very long, but this may be the very first time she’s seen anything remotely close to a glower on his face.
She points a finger. “What’s with the gag?”
“He was being annoying,” Vox answers tersely, scribbling hard at the papers on his desk.
“He made him cry,” Valentino corrects, sitting across from Vox with his feet propped on the desk, not even looking up from his sketchbook.
“He was being annoying!” Vox insists with tears in his eyes.