Archive of Our Own

Alastor was prepared for a lot of things when he handed himself over to Vox.

He was prepared for the victory parade. He was prepared for the press circuit. He was prepared for the smoothie date.

He wasn’t prepared for this.

Vox hums a tune to himself as the two of them ride the elevator to the top floor. He’s been in an infuriatingly good mood these past few hours, running from place to place like a child showing off a new toy. Alastor was aware his reputation would be in tatters after their deal, but Vox could at least do him the favour of not making it look like he fell prisoner to a total moron.

When the doors slide open with a chime, Vox turns to Alastor with a ridiculous grin, raises his lower arm, and flicks his wrist in a circle. The cords binding Alastor unravel inch by inch until he’s free. He stands on shaky legs (turns out sitting in a shitty office chair for hours on end with no food or drink does not actually help your balance), swats at the arms that come to his side to support him, and strides into Vox’s penthouse.

The whole place is absurd. His double-king bed, the backboard of which is some kind of screen, sits around ten meters from his desk, which is topped off with a set of speakers. The rest of the room is barren, sparkling reflective floors and uninspired floor-to-ceiling windows. At least the downstairs lobby had posters to look at. He strips off the stupid mask covering his mouth and tosses it on the floor.

"You really haven’t gotten much better at design, have you, Vox? I’d almost guess this empty husk of a room was vacant, if it didn’t suit you so well!"

He turns his head a hundred and eighty degrees on the last word, and snickers inwardly when he sees Vox jump a bit. The man shakes it off quickly and strides forward, irritating smirk high on his lips.

"Fuck off, Al, it’s called minimalism." He sounds out the word like he’s talking to a child. "It’s far better than whatever tacky trophy room bullshit you’ve got going on anyway. How many skulls can you really have hung on a wall before it becomes gauche?"

"If your head wasn’t made of plastic, I’d say at least one more." While Vox was talking, he’d swivelled his head back and walked to the only other door in the room. He grabs the handle and turns to Vox.

"The en-suite?"

"Actually, it’s filled with vipers."

"Perfect, I might find a better conversation partner."

He opens the door and steps into the bathroom. While he sits to do his business, he thinks about the next few days. He’s probably through the worst of it now; he’s always known Vox to get excited when things go his way, but he seems to have got a lot of it out of his system. He can’t imagine Vox will continue his humiliation tour tomorrow when he has other plans to attend to, however unrealistic they may be. If nothing else, Alastor will have a few days free of staffing and maintenance issues while he digs at the ego of his arch enemy. Even considering the back pain he’s sure he’ll accrue from the office chair Vox has promised to keep him in, things aren’t looking too bad.

He finishes up and washes his hands. While he does so, he hears the faint sounds of wardrobes opening and closing, and the squeaking of wheels. He’s not strong enough at the moment to actually summon a shadow to spy on Vox, so he just waltzes out instead.

The sight that greets him is…perturbing to say the least.

Vox is stood hunched over, sleeves rolled up as he faces the chair Alastor’s been strapped to the past few hours. In his right hand and balanced against his hip is a beaten cardboard box labelled "Tax Filings 1973". Alastor doesn’t even think they have taxes here. It seems to have been dragged from a wardrobe built into the wall, if the folded open door is any indication. In his left hand…

As much as Alastor doesn’t particularly care for the concept of sex, he is not stupid, and he lives in a hotel with a pornstar. He has, in fact, seen a dildo before.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Vox practically jumps out of his skin when Alastor speaks. Sparks fly off his antennae and the box he was holding dislodges from its place on his hip, spilling its contents onto the floor. Said contents appear to be several dildos of varying colours and lengths, a few cockrings, a variety of strings of anal beads, a couple of buttplugs, and at least seven bullet vibrators. Alastor is almost impressed all of that fit in there.

Vox’s eyes dart from Alastor, to the mess on the floor, and back up.

"Redecorating?"

Alastor snorts, and Vox’s shoulders relax a bit. He looks strangely shy, especially given the bombastic persona he’s been parading around with all day. It’s probably not the sex toys themselves, the man is fairly public with his disgusting proclivities, but the fact that he tripped over his own feet and is now stood holding an empty cardboard box and a dildo.

"I was just thinking, since you’re my prisoner and all-"

"I’m not going to fuck you."

Vox blinks a few times, as if trying to understand that the word “fuck” actually just came out of Alastor’s mouth in a sexual context. It is funny to see Vox at such a loss, but Alastor does feel a slight twinge of annoyance. Having a reputation as a prude is helpful in most circumstances, no-one’s approached him with impure intentions since he skinned a man on air for doing so, but it also comes with the assumption he is somehow naive to the concept of sex. It’s infantilising, and Alastor had had quite enough of that while he was still living.

"You? Fucking me?" Vox’s eyes are darting side to side manically as he drops the cardboard box and moves his hand to clink against his casing for the second time that day. "Are you kidding me? You do know I’m a top, right? Like, the toppest top? I’ve never bottomed in my life!" He sounds like he’s about to have a conniption. Alastor can’t resist.

"Quite frankly, my dear, I don’t care what sexual position you prefer. It’s never been of any consequence to me and so I’ve never really paid attention! I just assumed, what with your…” He rolls his wrist, gesturing vaguely. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Vox falls into his trap.

“My what?”

Alastor pounces.

"Well, one can only assume with your simpering attitude and constant begging for attention, you might prefer a more submissive role in bed as well!" Alastor doesn’t say "my attention", but it’s implied. Vox opens his mouth to refute him, but Alastor continues, completely ignoring him and having the time of his afterlife doing so. "And considering you’re dating the overlord of porn himself-" Vox sparks a little. "It seems rather obvious you’d be taking orders. He does have more experience directing sexual activity."

Vox’s mouth opens and closes, his screen flickering as he practically screeches his next words.

“Y-y-you think Val tops m-me!?”

Alastor has never particularly believed in karma, but he thinks he’s beginning to. After a truly horrendous day, he’s finally getting his fun, and at his captor’s expense too! Vox says Valentino’s name through gritted teeth and with venom he’d previously only reserved for Alastor’s; he’d find himself jealous if it didn’t mean he could begin his work of dismantling the Vees from within a day early!

“Well, he certainly seems more domineering! As disgusting as the man’s methods are, it’s very difficult to say he doesn’t know what he wants!”

Vox is seething, his entire screen is plastered with cyan and Alastor ears prick to hear a sharp whistling he can only assume is Vox’s fans working overtime to regulate his rapidly rising temperature. The hand that isn’t holding a dildo rises to Vox’s head again. He’s clawing at his casing, looking at the floor with crazed eyes, the spiral in his left pulsing. Alastor’s smile grows and his eyes shine brighter as he witnesses the beginnings of what can really only be described as a mental breakdown.

"Yeah, and he wants me to fuck him! He wants-" Vox suddenly stops speaking, and Alastor watches as it dawns on him that he’s making a fool of himself here. He considers interrupting, trying to push further, but the effectiveness of his insults does go down the more Vox is conscious of the fact that he’s only saying them to get a rise out of him. For all the poor choices he makes with respect to Alastor, the man’s not a complete idiot.

Alastor watches with some degree of trepidation as Vox’s hand falls back to his side and he raises his head. He’s still leaning forward a little, and his eyes narrow as a shark’s grin spreads across his face. He has an idea.

"You know what?" he says, tilting his head back. His next words are spoken low, and ripple with static. "Come here."

The room is silent for a few seconds.

Then, a small snrk comes from Alastor.

Vox’s eyes widen and his face takes on a dismayed expression as Alastor bends at the waist and nearly screams with laughter. He holds himself around the stomach as the cackles come so fast that he starts getting lightheaded.

Vox, seemingly not content with his current degree of humiliation, yells across the room again, pointing at the spot in front of him.

"I said come here!"

His voice breaks on the last word, and Alastor howls so hard he considers sitting down. He thinks he’s having a heart attack.

"Is this- Is this your attempt at dominating? I’ve always imagined the intended tone to be closer to a superior giving orders, not a child throwing a tantrum!"

Vox’s fists clench at his side, and he starts sparking, cables rising behind him. He’s getting genuinely pissed off.

"You’re still holding that dildo, by the way!"

Vox looks to his hand as if he’s completely forgotten it was there, prompting a new peal of laughter from Alastor. Vox’s cables wilt and retract as he looks between his hand and Alastor, as if trying to figure out whether it’s a good idea just throw it at him. He seems to decide against it and sighs, looking appropriately dejected.

He tosses it back in the box and starts gathering up all the other sex toys that litter the floor. Alastor begins to calm from his laughing fit, and wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes. He’s almost tempted to make fun of Vox more, but he can tell the other is at the point where any further needling would just result in a "fuck off", and he’d rather go out on a high note. Maybe tomorrow he’ll bring this up again and watch as Vox’s face flushes in front of his friends. In front of his boyfriend. This is going to be so much fun.

He’s almost ready to ask Vox where he’ll be sleeping when he looks over and sees him staring into the box. He’s packed everything up, there’s nothing left on the floor, but he still seems to be considering something. Alastor’s ears prick and his head tilts.

"Something on your mind, friend?"

Vox just keeps staring at the box, not even responding to Alastor’s use of the word friend. It’s almost getting eerie, but then Vox’s voice breaks the silence.

"You know I’m attracted to you, right?" He’s still not looking at Alastor.

The question takes Alastor aback and he isn’t particularly sure of its relevance, but he answers honestly.

"Well, yes. You are a bit obvious."

"Are you attracted to me?"

Alastor resists the urge to snort. He’s fairly certain Vox won’t see if he rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t want to chance it, just in case. This night is rapidly going downhill. With his current lack of power, he can’t exactly fight Vox if he seriously angers him, but he doesn’t much want to spend the next however-long soothing his ego either.

God, he hates men.

"I’m afraid not, my dear." He delivers the information with a neutral tone, blunt but not rude. It’s a trick he learned very young: make sure they know you won’t take their shit, but don’t provoke them. Stand your ground, but don’t encroach on theirs. Save up your resentment for later, when they don’t know you’re coming.

Vox nods slowly, as if digesting the information. Alastor’s slightly stunned at how quickly he seems to accept this; he knows that Vox is irrevocably obsessed with him, knows that obsession has at least some sexual element, and half-expected him to try and argue. Vox’s eyes stay fixed where they are, and he makes no indication he’s going to move. For the first time in a long time, Alastor has no idea what Vox is thinking.

After a moment, Vox lays the box down on the floor, then turns to Alastor. His screen is slightly dimmed, but he doesn’t look defeated. In fact, he almost looks hopeful.

"Do you think-"

Vox stops himself, as if trying to find the exact words that communicate what he wants. Alastor, to his surprise, finds himself invested.

"Do you think we could make a deal?"

Vox looks him directly in the eye as he asks, and Alastor is momentarily overcome with some disgusting nostalgic feeling. Vox reminds him so much of that man he met decades ago, his voice small but optimistic, hunched over but eyes filled with intent.

Alastor walks over to him, and Vox flinches when he gets close. As he walks directly past, Vox sighs, and Alastor can see his mouth begin to open. He’s about to speak when Alastor grabs his chair by the headrest and drags it over to Vox’s desk, the only sound in the room the echo of squeaking wheels. He flops down into the chair, and spins it to face Vox.

"Take a seat then, my good fellow. We have much to discuss."

…

The conditions they negotiate are as follows.

One.

Vox is not to touch Alastor with any part of his body or any object without express permission, whether verbal or non-verbal. If his touch is permitted in one area, it may not stray to another, and if it has moved, permission must be sought for it to return. Consent for said contact may be revoked at any time, and failure to comply will result in immediate termination of the deal on Alastor’s end, with Vox still having to uphold his side in lieu of damages.

Two.

Alastor is to fuck himself to completion in the desk chair. What exactly constitutes "completion" was a lengthy debate, which largely focussed on Alastor’s concern that he wouldn’t be able to achieve orgasm, or wouldn’t know if he had. Vox insisted this would not be a problem, as he is apparently an expert at both prompting and recognising orgasms, but Alastor still required an additional clause stating that condition two was to be considered void if an hour has passed from the start of the scene.

Three.

Vox is not permitted to film or record the encounter in any way. Vox has initially protested this condition on the basis that this was unlikely to ever happen again, to which Alastor questioned why he should have faith in Vox’s sexual abilities if the man had none himself. The implication that a universe existed where the two of them may have sex at some point in the future if he made this good enough had him agreeing fairly quickly.

Four.

Vox is, however, allowed to look at Alastor the entire time, with no exceptions. He is to be able to observe Alastor from whatever angle he wishes, and Alastor is not to hide or shield himself from Vox’s gaze with his hands or any other body part. Alastor had rolled his eyes at this rather obvious manifestation of Vox’s voyeuristic tendencies, but allowed it nonetheless.

Five.

Vox is not to please himself sexually without Alastor’s say-so. This includes undressing, masturbating, grinding, and any other associated acts. He is free to jerk himself raw to the memory of this, but his dick stays firmly in his pants and untouched in Alastor’s presence unless explicit permission is given. Alastor was a little surprised at the speed with which Vox agreed to this condition, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Six.

Vox gets to choose the sex toys Alastor uses. This was somewhat a matter of practicality as Vox has far more experience with them, but was also for the actual fulfilment of the deal itself. Vox argued that if Alastor had the choice, he would pick the smallest dildo and bitch the entire time about how it did nothing for him, killing Vox’s boner and any hope of enjoying this night in the process. Alastor thinks his television is a little too smart sometimes.

Seven.

In return, Alastor does not have to sleep in the chair for the next two weeks, instead having his own bed (though Vox insists on it staying in his penthouse), and he is to be given adequate food and water each day. He is also to be allowed two fifteen-minute breaks over each day to get up and stretch, also limited to the next two weeks. Vox acted extremely offended at the implication he wouldn’t properly feed Alastor, before being reminded that the man hadn’t actually eaten since his capture several hours earlier. Vox ordered some raw meat brought up and reluctantly added the condition.

Eight.

The deal is to be declared null and void should Alastor utter the word "Pavlov” during the scene. Vox complained that he didn’t get a safeword, to which Alastor dryly responded that if he did, he’d use it at the fifty nine minute and fifty nine second mark to get out of upholding his end of the bargain. Vox took offence to the idea he’d ever be unfair in business, and then again to the idea that he couldn’t make Alastor come in under an hour. Alastor told him to shut up and write it in.

At the end of all this negotiating, the two finally had a workable contract. Alastor reached over the table and silently held out his hand. For the second time that day, Vox slid his hand into Alastor’s and shook it. A small spark flew from their conjoined palms, and they both watched as it fizzled into the air.

"Let’s begin, shall we?"

…

Alastor stands stiffly to the side at Vox drops the box of sex toys onto the desk. He takes out one dildo after another until all of them are present and accounted for, then shoves the box to the other end of the table.

"Okay, so," he begins. "Do you have any preferences?"

Alastor looks at him like he’s stupid.

"Yeah, should have figured. I’d like to work you up to this one if possible." He picks up the one he was holding previously; it’s long, shorter than some of the others but wide. It has a strange texture too, bumps and scales lining its sides, and a somehow thicker bulb at the base of it. It looks intimidating, but Vox’s “if possible” reassures Alastor slightly that it’s not necessarily going in him. With any luck, he can draw this out until the hour mark anyway.

The thing that most interests Alastor about the dildo is that it camouflages itself seamlessly against Vox’s hand, matching the exact tone of his skin.

"Is that your dick?" he asks. He thinks his tone is fairly neutral, but some disgust may have slipped in, he can see it in how Vox looks momentarily nervous before recovering himself.

"One of them."

"And you can’t control or feel it?"

Vox seems to understand what he’s getting at. His face crumples a little.

"No- fuck, Alastor-" He sounds upset Alastor would even ask, as if him not trusting the man currently holding him captive is some kind of slight. “I’m not going to fuck you. That’s not in the deal, and I’m pretty sure if I did, you’d spend the next few months finding some way to end my life.”

"Good instinct." He leans against the desk with his hip, yawning. It has been a tiring day, and he’ll take any excuse to make fun of Vox for this. "Fine. I’m not promising anything, but that can be your goal."

Vox’s antennae spark and his eyes widen. He’s obviously extremely excited to have the go-ahead, but he coughs into his fist and tries to resume his business-like demeanour.

"Right. So, I was thinking we start with-" he pauses, cutting himself off. "Can I just ask, what have you, you know…?"

Alastor does not, in fact, know. He raises an eyebrow and enjoys Vox’s squirming, the man’s fingers twitching against his palms.

"What exactly am I working with here?"

Alastor understands the question now, but tilts his head anyway.

"I’d assume the dildos!"

Vox sighs and rolls his eyes. Whether he actually buys into Alastor’s performance or not, Alastor doesn’t know, but the man doesn’t call him on it.

"No, Al, what equipment have you got down there?"

"You mean my genitals?" He says it in a deliberately cheery voice, as if he’s pleased at finally understanding what Vox is saying. Vox groans and flips his head back. Alastor can hear him muttering something along the lines of should have known this wouldn’t be easy, goddamn deer and stifles a giggle. Vox brings his head back, looking at Alastor as if he’s already at the end of his rope. This might be more entertaining than he thought.

"Yes, Al, your genitals."

"Honestly, Vox, was that really so hard? I wouldn’t really describe my sex organs as equipment, but I can see why a technology-obsessed-"

"Alastor, please." Vox’s voice comes through gritted teeth, his head in his hands. Alastor freely chuckles at the sight, before deciding to finally cut him a break.

"Alright, alright, I’ve had my fun! I’m afraid I don’t have the typical organs expected of a man, but I don’t suppose that’ll put you off, will it?" He adds the last words in a faux-worried tone, as if he actually thinks Vox could ever stop being attracted to him.

Vox’s head shoots from his hands and he grins wide, pixelated blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck no, it won’t!” Alastor rolls his eyes, but his smile is genuine. All things change, but Vox being so incredibly easy for him is the one universal constant.

“So," Vox says, getting back into the groove and picking up a second fake cock. It’s a little over half as long as the one he wants to work Alastor open for, and it is significantly thinner, only being maybe two or three of Vox’s fingers together. It’s matt purple, likely silicone with the slight give it seems to have where Vox’s fingertips press into it, and is completely featureless besides a small bulge at the head and a suction cup around the base. “I think we should start with this one. It’s not super thick, but it’s a good five inches and gets you used to having something inside you."

"And this-" he picks up a third dildo. It’s thicker than the second one, but not by much, and its length is around halfway between the other two. It’s more realistic looking, curved with veins up and along the surface and a more clearly-defined head. Its most notable feature is that it’s completely see through, and seems to be made of glass, if the distinct cloudy plastic of its suction cup is any indication. "I think this one is a good mid-point. It’ll open you up a bit more, and the texture is closer to mine."

He looks to Alastor as if for approval, like he’s going to have any particular opinion on Vox’s selection. He can admit Vox has tried to be somewhat realistic; he’s not trying to make Alastor take the largest one he has, which appears to be around the length of his forearm. He’s fairly certain such a thing would be in his uterus.

“They seem perfectly fine to me. Now if you wouldn’t mind actually setting up, I would actually like to begin sometime today.”

Vox rolls his eyes but picks up the final dildo and piles the three into one arm, grabbing the chair with the other hand. He drags it over to the bed, leaving it at a perpendicular angle and pushing the brakes down with the tips of his shoes. Alastor follows him over.

Vox seats himself down on the bed and lets the toys fall from his hands. He pushes the two larger cocks onto the sheets behind him and picks up the smaller, pushing it down onto the plasticky surface of the chair. He wiggles it a bit, and, satisfied it’s not coming off, looks up at Alastor, voice low and smug.

"Well?" he asks. "Are you gonna strip?"

Alastor wordlessly unbuckles his belt and lets it drop to the ground. He unzips his trousers, unbuttons their back to let his tail spring free, then pulls both them and his underwear to his mid-thigh. Vox is salivating at the sight of his crotch (Alastor isn’t exactly sure why, he has far too much fur there for anything to actually be visible), but seems confused when he realises Alastor isn’t going any further.

"Wha- why did you stop?" He sounds upset, and Alastor giggles. He puts his hands on his hips and tries to look superior, which is admittedly a difficult task with his trousers half-way down his legs, but he makes do.

"I don’t recall ever agreeing to get naked! As far as I’m concerned, I only need enough clothes off to be fucked!"

Vox visibly shivers at the word fucked, but quickly shifts to anger.

"Fuck off, Al, you agreed not to hide yourself! You said I could watch you whatever way I wanted!"

"Is that what I said?" he brings one finger to his mouth to mime thinking. Vox’s eyes follow it. "Because I seem to recall the contract stating you could watch from whatever angle you like, and that I couldn’t shield myself from your gaze, whether with my hands of any other part of my body." He sees Vox’s face fall as he looks down at his hands, as if blaming them for the poor drafting. "Expressio unius, my friend, you never stated I couldn’t keep my clothes on, so I do think I will! There is a slight chill in here."

Vox looks like he’s on the verge of tears. It’s hilarious how fast the man goes from self-assured to critically depressed, but Alastor does actually want to be asleep around an hour from now, so he decides to throw Vox a bone.

"Perhaps I may feel a little warmer later though. I’ve heard sex can be fairly good exercise, especially if one is actually enjoying themself." Vox looks up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky. Alastor rolls his eyes and shuffles up to the chair.

He turns so his ass is facing it, grabs the dildo, and starts trying to line himself up.

Vox’s hand flies out to grab him, before stopping when he remembers they aren’t to touch.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

Alastor pauses, confused. Wasn’t he meant to…

"You’re not even wet! Do you want to tear something?"

Oh, nevermind.

"I want this over with as quickly as possible. I’m tired."

Vox slaps his hand against his face, which would probably have greater effect if his palm didn’t only cover a third of its surface.

"Look, as much of an asshole as I am, I don’t actually want you to hurt yourself. I know you don’t have a lot of sex, but-" he stops suddenly and looks at Alastor with an indiscernible expression. "Do you usually have sex dry?"

This is not a conversation Alastor wants to have right now. Or ever, actually. He is not taking a lecture on safe sex from the man who currently holding him prisoner. The quickest way out of this seems to be acquiescing, so that’s what he does.

"Fine. Where is your lubricant?"

Vox huffs, clearly unhappy at being ignored, but glad Alastor’s cooperating.

"Top drawer."

Alastor looks at him expectantly. Vox sits back against his hands and smirks.

"I’m not getting it. I can’t use it anyway, you won’t let me touch you. What if our fingers brush when I pass you the bottle?"

"You just want me bent over."

"Oh, do I." He purrs and flicks his tongue against his teeth as if that’s somehow erotic and not simply disgusting.

Alastor considers his options.

He can refuse to get the lube and try to take the dildo dry again. This isn’t a good idea; he does not want Vox worrying over him and wants a conversation about what can generously be called his sex life even less.

He can get the lube from the drawer as he is. This is problematic in that his trousers are still at his mid-thigh. Truth be told, he is fairly uncomfortable like this; he expected to be sat down and therefore requiring no range of motion in his legs already and they’re starting to chafe. He also doesn’t want the added humiliation of Vox seeing him shuffle to the bedside table.

He can remove his trousers and get the lube. This is a bad choice for obvious reasons, but he does think that Vox is probably going to keep pestering him with chore after chore that will make life very difficult for him if he doesn’t undress. He sighs and slips his thumbs under his trousers, as well as kicking off his shoes.

Vox instantly leans forward, enraptured by the frankly extremely normal sight of Alastor’s legs. He supposes they are fairly long, and they’re furry most of the way down, transitioning from a dull brown to black, but other than that, they’re nothing particularly special. Alastor has never really had a conception of his hellish legs beyond the initial difficulty balancing on his toes, but Vox seems awed by them. He has a visible wet spot in his pants, which either means his suits are made of thin polyester tat (Alastor wouldn’t put it past Vox, but he’s not sure Velvette would allow it), or he’s leaking so much he’s soaked through them.

Disgusting man.

Alastor walks to the dresser and pulls open the top drawer. It is low enough that he doesn’t really have a practical option but to bend down, and he hears Vox moan behind him. The man is genuinely pathetic. The drawer is empty.

Alastor turns back with a glare. Vox is wearing this stupid, shit eating grin and Alastor considers calling this whole thing off right now, before reminding himself that he just needs to get through this next hour (which is rapidly lengthening), and he’ll have guaranteed food, drink, rest, and stretch time for the remainder of his stay here. He grits his teeth.

"It appears your top drawer is empty, Vox."

"Oops!" Vox pulls a faux-innocent look. "I must have been mistaken, I think it’s in the bottom one, actually."

Alastor’s only options are to kneel or squat down, neither of which sound particularly appealing with a deviant sitting three feet from him. Before Vox can object, he pushes the lamp on the dresser from its surface, smashing its glass against the ground, picks up the dresser, and throws it down sideways on the bed, getting as close to hitting Vox with it as he can without actually doing so. Vox squawks and jumps away.

Alastor’s smile turns a little more genuine as he rifles through the bottom drawer. It’s filled with papers, mostly business filings he should probably steal or destroy because they look like they’re important enough to cause Vox problems if they’re lost. There’s no lube there. He pulls open the middle drawer and a small bottle falls onto the bed, along with several little plastic sheaths. Alastor can guess what they’re for and slides a few over the claws of his left hand. He can only assume they’re Vox’s, and they’re a bit too large for his slimmer fingers, but they don’t seem liable to fall off unless he shakes his hand violently, so he supposes they’ll do.

Vox is still in the same position he scrabbled to, legs forming an O and leaning back on his hands. His face is speckled with cyan and he’s breathing harder than would be expected. There never was any risk of him getting hit, but Alastor can only assume from his posture that he still, instinctually, considers him a threat. He smiles wider.

"O-oops." The word is much weaker, almost placating, like Alastor is a wild animal. Satisfied with making Vox at least a little scared during this humiliating experience, Alastor returns to the chair, standing in front of it. Vox shuffles back to his previous position gingerly, legs hanging over the side of the bed again. Alastor holds the bottle with one hand and depresses the pump twice, letting the lube fall onto the silicone covering his index finger. It’s more viscous than he imagined it being, and naturally stays in the little bead it came out in. He realises that just this probably isn’t going to do, and depresses the head a few more times, cringing at the sound. He rolls the lube between his thumb, index, and middle fingers, spreading it so it covers the length of them.

Without looking at Vox (he can only imagine doing so will make him lose his nerve), he brings his fingers down to his cunt. He’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to do this, but he’s obviously meant to insert his fingers to stretch the muscles somehow. It feels strange attempting this standing up, and the angle his arm is at is uncomfortable, causing his wrist to bend unnaturally.

Alastor hears as Vox shifts to the side, making space on the bed. He supposes it is his best option, so he reluctantly sits next to him, slightly disgusted at the fact his bare ass is on the sheets. He doubts Vox minds, but he feels sorry for the cleaning worker who has to deal with the aftermath of whatever this is.

He reaches down past his shirt-tails again, the angle much easier. He hears Vox’s shaky inhale as he starts inserting the tip of his index finger. He goes fairly slowly; internal injuries do heal slower than external ones, especially as his power is so restricted, and if he’s going to have to extend this by prepping himself, he may as well do it properly.

"Can you-" Vox asks, before swallowing. "Can you turn this way?" Alastor looks at him and he looks pleading. This is quickly rectified, Vox’s eyes darting to the side as he leans back throwing his hands up nervously. "I mean, I am the expert of the two of us, and, not to insult your natural abilities or anything, but I don’t think that sex is always something you can just figure out in hell, I mean, I ended up with brand new parts when I got here and it took some time to actually figure out-"

"Shut up." There is nothing in the world Alastor wants to hear about less than Vox’s parts.

He sighs and turns around to face Vox. This could easily turn into an argument about whether he’s really letting Vox look at him, which he doesn’t want, both for the obvious time-waste, and for the fact it might allow Vox to regain some confidence. He’s on the back foot at the minute, and Alastor would prefer to keep him that way.

"Fine. I’m facing you. What-" He stops, not wanting it to sound like Vox is ordering him around. "What do you suggest I do?" The wording is clumsy, and frankly absurd in the context of trying to finger oneself, but it doesn’t seem like Vox notices if his continued staring at his cunt as if it’s the eighth wonder of hell is any indication. Alastor rolls his eyes.

"Right, okay." Vox takes a breath in, deep but uncertain. "So, you line up your finger so it’s pointing into your pussy-"

Alastor cuts him off immediately. "Do not call it that."

"Okay, then what?" Though Alastor would expect the question to be spoken with some kind of argumentative tone, it’s really only inquisitive. Conciliatory. Ugh.

Alastor does use cunt in his own head, it makes it easier to distinguish between his openings, and the violent, one syllable snap of the word conveys the disgust he feels thinking about it. That being said, he’s not having Vox swear at him about his genitals for the next however long this goes on.

"Hole. Front hole if necessary to distinguish."

"Yeah, think I’ll just be sticking with hole, it’s a lot sexier." Alastor wrinkles his nose and Vox barks a laugh. "Okay, so, line your finger up until it’s pointing into your hole."

Alastor does, the slick plastic of the caps catching slightly against his folds as he manoeuvres.

"Right, then push your finger in, just the tip of it. Make sure the angle’s right, even with caps you can catch your-" Vox stops himself, obviously looking for a word that Alastor won’t yell at him for. "Insides," he settles on, and Alastor nods to let him know that’s fair game. It’s a lot easier to think of sex as some extra type of violence, to relate it to something he’s more comfortable with. Insides, organs, nerves, they’re all preferred if they reduce the discomfort a little.

He begins pushing in, just until he can’t see the sheath over his claw. He’s not exactly enthused so far, he knows that sex is meant to get better as it goes on, but as a baseline this is fairly dismal.

Vox, on the other hand, is looking at him like he’s witnessing God. The difference between their apparent perceptions of this event makes Alastor snort, but Vox doesn’t seem to hear him, too engrossed in staring into Alastor’s folds.

"Then you-" he swallows, and the red lines dripping from his mouth clear away. Alastor had not needed to know that they were spit. "Then you push in further. Once you’ve got through the initial tightness, the space you have opens out a bit."

Alastor tries, but his finger is stuck. He pulls it out and Vox makes this dismayed little sound, and Alastor laughs as he reaches back for the lube.

"Don’t worry, my dear, you won’t be deprived for longer than twenty seconds." He covers his fingers again and spreads the lube as he had previously. It takes less time now he’s done it once. "I’m sure even someone as desperate as you can wait that long, hmm?"

Vox moans quietly and Alastor sees his dick twitch in his pants. Now he’s more in control, Alastor finds Vox’s arousal more funny than it is disgusting. He fights the urge to flick at it.

He puts the bottle down and reinserts the finger. It does catch a little, but he corrects and pushes in further, until he’s in to the base. He’s still not particularly stunned, but Vox is what he now knows to be salivating behind his teeth, and Alastor can almost see a peek of something blue and glowing back there. He guesses it’s Vox’s tongue, and briefly wonders why it’s never been visible before.

"Okay, you’re, you’re doing good." Vox’s voice is low and semi-distorted, and Alastor almost laughs at how easy it was to get him this worked up. Doing so will ruin the moment though, so he keeps his mouth shut, allowing his smile to climb higher.

"Now you move it in and out. You can curl it when it’s in there, sometimes hooking it in and pulling back towards your entrance feels good too."

Alastor isn’t particularly interested in what feels good here, but he follows Vox’s instructions, sliding his finger in and out, then bending it back towards his front and pulling. That feels more pleasant than he expected it to, and he does it a few more times before moving his finger in and out again. The slide is slightly easier, and he realises with dismay that he’s actually getting wetter. Vox seems to pick up on it too, and his eyes go wide as Alastor continues. He’s not sure exactly what Vox can actually see from in front of him; his hand covers most of his upper genitals from his view.

He flushes at the realisation that the slick might be running out of his hole, and he feels it when he focusses, dripping down his taint. He feels his cunt clench, and chides himself for being so obvious. If Vox beginning to pant is any indication, he noticed the muscle contraction too, and Alastor looks away from his face as he continues.

After a few minutes, Vox’s voice breaks the silence. "I think you’re probably ready for another one." It’s said as more of a suggestion than an instruction, but Alastor still take it as one. He slips a second finger in alongside the first, and pauses when they chafe against his insides. He doesn’t think he needs more lube, his natural lubricant seems enough at this stage, but he still feels a slight panic as he realises his fingers aren’t going in.

Vox shuffles a little closer. "It’s okay. I know it’s a lot. Just relax and take deep breaths." He demonstrates, and although Alastor abhors the way he’s talking, as if Alastor is some kind of child, he follows along. He feels himself loosening a little and the burn decreases. He pushes the two fingers in deeper, before pulling them out and pushing them back in. He’s stopped producing slick, probably from the panic, but when he hooks both of his fingers forward and pulls down again, he feels more gathering. He does that a few more times until he’s more relaxed, then sits back, leg muscles untensing.

He keeps at the two fingers for a good while, and feels Vox’s eyes on him as he slides them in and out. He inserts a third on his own, and hears Vox’s breath hitch as he does. It’s tight as it was before, but he holds them together, breathes slowly, then relaxes before getting them all in. His hand has returned to the awkward angle it was at when he was standing, but the tension in his wrist isn’t completely unbearable. He closes his eyes and rocks his hips down a little. Vox is breathing incredibly heavily, like he’s running a marathon. Alastor lets his smile curl as he continues, enjoying the little sounds Vox lets out. He opens his eyes to ensure he’s keeping up his end of the bargain not to touch himself, but his hands are nowhere near his dick. They’re balled at his sides as he stares down at Alastor. It’s probably uncomfortable for him to have his neck at such an awkward angle constantly. Good.

Alastor eventually decides he’s done. He’s still not really sold on the concept of sex, especially not with another person, but he can admit that fingering himself wasn’t all that bad. Though he is pretty wet, his dick isn’t hard, still hidden in its hood. If anything, the experience was closer to meditation, being able to clear his mind after a long day. He’s feeling quite boneless and relaxed, in spite of what a poor idea that is in this situation, and considers that he might even do this again.

Probably not in front of a degenerate with a poorly-hidden obsession with him, but sometime.

He pulls his fingers out and stands. He walks the few steps to the chair before resuming as he had been before, grabbing the dildo with one hand to angle it into himself. As loathe as he is to admit it, it is significantly easier to see what he’s doing without his thighs being held together by his trousers, and he lines up and pushes until the head pops in.

He sits down at about the speed he’d been moving his fingers, which is to say fairly quickly. The silicone feels strange inside him after the heat of his fingers, and he finds it’s probably about the same size, without any of the unpredictability of the texture his hands have to them. The dildo reaches straight up into him, and so he doesn’t really feel that pressure against his front he had earlier. He doesn’t have much of a reaction to it, finding the whole thing fairly underwhelming. He’d honestly rather go back to his fingers.

Vox, on the other hand, looks like he might have an aneurysm any second now. His face is glitching, and Alastor can hear the whistle of air rushing out of the vents at the side of his head. He is staying as still as possible, but Alastor sees his hands twitching in their fists, obviously wanting to touch, whether Alastor or himself, he can’t tell. His breath is coming in pants, and his eyes are glued to Alastor’s opening. Though the fur around it does hide it somewhat, the bright purple of the dildo makes seeing where it pushes into him fairly easy.

"How is it?" Vox breathes out, voice filtered through static. He’s clearly having the time of his life, and Alastor can’t wait to burst his bubble.

"Unpleasant."

Vox’s eyes snap to his face and Alastor resists the urge to grin. He’d said the word as disappointedly as possible, and he schools his expression into one of annoyed boredom. Vox looks up and down him, trying to diagnose the issue. After a moment, he sags his shoulders and looks back up to Alastor’s face.

"Does it hurt?" He says with a resigned sigh, as if Alastor’s comfort here actually matters to him. He almost sounds as if he’s preparing to let Alastor up and tend to his non-existent injuries, erection be damned. Alastor doesn’t think particularly highly of Vox when it came to sexual matters (he is, after all, dating a fairly prolific rapist), but the idea that the man would sacrifice getting his dick wet if Alastor injured himself is somewhat sweet.

"No," Alastor sings, drawing out the word. "I just find myself a little…disappointed. All this talk about getting me off, and I’d much rather go back to my fingers. If getting fucked is this dull, I’m not sure why anyone does it!"

Vox’s expression brightens when he realises Alastor isn’t hurt (and thus that he doesn’t have to end this if he wishes to preserve the last shred of respect Alastor has for him), but turns indignant as he registers his words.

"You do know that’s not actually what fucking is though, right? You have to actually ri- move up and down." Vox stands, and Alastor suppresses a flinch. He moves in front of the chair and kneels on the floor. He’s closer than Alastor would prefer him, but not close enough that it would be reasonable to argue about it. "You have to bring your hips up, then drop them back down. Otherwise it’s closer to cockwarming, which is nice, but not what we’re going for."

"Is that-" Alastor pauses, considering what a stupid question he’s about to ask. "Is that an actual sex term?"

Vox looks confused for a second, before getting it and laughing. "Cockwarming? Yeah," he says through giggles. "Yeah, it is a sex term, Al."

Alastor turns his nose up. "It sounds ridiculous."

"Sex is ridiculous."

That is at least one point on which they are in agreement. Alastor pulls himself up, mostly by his grip on the armrests (his feet do touch the floor but he’s more likely to tip the chair if he uses his legs) then drops back down. He’s not really feeling much different than he was before. He does it again a few times and…nothing. Vox seems to be having fun watching him fuck himself, but there’s nothing going on on Alastor’s end.

"Is this meant to be enjoyable?" he asks, a hint of honesty clouding his voice. He knows people exaggerate about sex; Angel talks fairly often about the performance of it, having to moan and whine while he lies there, unentertained. Alastor prefers not to hear the man complain about his bizarre occupation, but he sometimes listens in while Husk polishes glasses at the bar. It’s amazing what people reveal when they’ve got some alcohol in them.

Vox seems less angry this time, more sad, which isn’t really what Alastor was going for. As much as he likes to see Vox depressed, the discomfort of the situation is getting to him, and he’d prefer some kind of distraction. Vox’s hand reaches towards Alastor’s, but stops in midair and falls back to his side with a huff.

"You’re…you’re really getting nothing from this?"

"I’m not sure people do in general."

Vox’s mouth flies open.

"Are- are you kidding me? You think that people don’t enjoy sex?"

"I think that…the more active party enjoys it. I can’t see the appeal to just sitting there and having an object inserted into you."

Vox drags his hand over his face.

"Alastor, I’ve been fucked before." He says this like it’s some unfathomable secret he’s revealing, rather than something Alastor had already assumed. Or maybe he just thinks Alastor believed his lie earlier. The man is hopeless.

"I promise you it feels good. Why do you think people use sex toys? They have to actually do something, or nobody would ever buy them." As loathe as Alastor is to admit it, he is making a certain amount of sense. There has to be something to this. Alastor’s frustration grows.

"What, am I doing this wrong, then?" He feels his nails cutting into the arms of the chair. This is not how he wanted this to go. He didn’t expect or want to be particularly good at sex, to be able to orgasm, but not being able to even register basic physical sensations as others do leaves him feeling defective.

"No! You’re not, it’s just…" Vox’s eyes dart around, trying to find a way to explain. Alastor’s glad he’s below him; it makes it a lot easier to talk like this. This is horrible, frustrating, embarrassing, and he can’t wait for this hour to end. Food and water. A bed to sleep in. Stretch time. He can do this.

"If you’re not…aroused, you’re less likely to register it as anything other than discomfort." He looks beseechingly at Alastor, trying to get his attention. Alastor keeps his head tilted away, determined not to meet Vox’s eyes.

"Like, before, when you were fingering yourself, you felt better then, right? You had some trouble getting them in at first, but you- you got wet after a bit, yeah?"

Alastor nods.

"Right. So, what was good about that?"

This is the last conversation Alastor wants to be having. He feels oddly vulnerable, as if Vox is giving him something rather than the other way around.

"It was…less uncomfortable when I hooked them in and pulled. That was better."

"Okay. You could try leaning back a little? Not so much the suction cup detaches, but you might be able to get it against your spot?"

Alastor’s eyes snap back to his. "My what?"

Vox is beginning to look like he’s in over his head. He breaks eye contact.

"Your spot. People call it the g-spot, it’s at the front of your- your hole, and pressing down on it usually feels good."

Alastor nods awkwardly and casts his gaze away again. Slowly, he brings himself back.

He jolts when he feels the dildo hit against something. The movement must be visible, because Vox’s eyes light up, flicking to Alastor’s face. He nods again, and a spark jumps between Vox’s antennae. He’s far more excited about this than Alastor is.

Alastor leans forward again a little, pulls himself up, then slides down the length of the cock again, leaning back. He starts slow at first, giving himself time to change his posture as he moves. He can feel slick running again, smoothing the way.

"You can-" Alastor had almost forgotten Vox was here. He looks down and watches as Vox’s glowing tongue darts out to lick his lips. "You can kind of roll your hips on the downswing, it might be easier than leaning back and forth all the time."

Alastor nods and does as he says. He finds it more convenient, and it allows him to speed up, fucking himself faster. He’s not hitting against his front every time, he expects the fact that the dildo is ramrod straight isn’t helping, but he does frequently enough. Every few thrusts he grinds his hips rather than raising them immediately, and startles when he realises he’s moaning, breathy little ahs and mms spilling from his mouth. He shuts his lips tight.

Vox whines at his feet.

"Let me hear you. Pl-please, Al." Alastor makes no moves to open his mouth, but he does continue rolling his hips, enjoying Vox’s desperation. Vox is still hard, kneeling a few feet away. Alastor can see the flex of his thighs as he tries his best to hold perfectly still, and his hands are still balled into fists. Alastor laughs low at how pathetic it all is, and Vox must be getting something out of it because his dick visibly twitches and he moans.

"What-" Alastor speaks around pants. "Whyever would I do that, hmm? I- I don’t seem to recall sound ever being a part of our contract, you are-" Alastor suppresses a gasp as the dildo hits his insides at the perfect angle. "Are such a visual creature." Vox whimpers, his screen glitching heavily. His eyes remain in place though, flicking rapidly between Alastor’s face and his cunt. Vox is shaking.

"I do think-" Alastor lifts himself fully off the dildo, ignoring Vox’s whine of protest. "I’m done with this one." He pulls it off the chair and tosses it to Vox, who barely catches it, but not before it hits his chest. He looks down at his ascot and suit jacket, slightly sticky from Alastor’s slick, and makes a high noise, his thighs twitching. Alastor rolls his eyes, but doesn’t comment. Pathetic man.

When Vox has stopped shaking enough to look back up at him, Alastor has crossed one leg over the other. It makes him feel less exposed, but also conveys some level of power without indulging in Vox’s particular style of sitting, which is to say legs as far apart as humanly (demonically?) possible. The man seems to think it conveys some sense of authority, but realistically it makes him look like a child who was never taught how to sit in polite company. Alastor raises an eyebrow.

"Well? Are you going to bring me the second one, or are we going to call this whole thing off?”

It’s a testament to how gone Vox is that he doesn’t even blink, doesn’t question the clearly empty threat, just scrambles to his feet and grabs the glass dildo from the bed. He kneels back down, closer than before, but it’s probably more due to his enthusiasm than any malintent. Alastor doesn’t mind at the moment. Vox holds up the dildo to Alastor like he’s presenting a tribute to a king. Alastor scoffs and takes it from him, hearing Vox gasp as their fingers brush just slightly. He must be out of his mind.

Alastor stands up on his toes a little, and pushes the dildo against the chair. The area around where the last dildo was is covered in slick, so it takes a couple of attempts, but eventually the cup sticks. Alastor flicks the tip of it, producing a little chime, and Vox whimpers, drawing his attention. It’s obvious what he’s picturing and Alastor’s smile hikes.

"Don’t get any ideas, sweetheart." Vox’s legs spasm and his head falls back. Alastor can still see his face thanks to the low angle he’s at; his eyes are wide and Alastor isn’t sure he’s ever seen Vox’s triangle pupils so large before. The whirring of his fans echoes around the empty space, and when Vox looks back at Alastor, he’s smiling down at him as if he’s some pitiful animal. He whimpers again.

Alastor moves to sit down, but Vox’s voice stops him.

"W-wait!" Alastor raises a brow. "You- you should lube it up first."

"And why should I do that? I’m fairly certain my natural lubricant will be enough."

Vox shudders and drops his head. Alastor can hear him swearing under his breath. Something along the lines of holy fuck, he’s fucking wet. He’s about to argue when Vox takes a deep breath and raises his screen again.

"I know you think you’ve got enough, but trust me, you’re going to want the extra lube." He heaves in another breath, as if the sight of Alastor above him is suffocating him. "Your cu- your hole gets drier over time. You might have been fine on the smaller one, but this one is wider, and you don’t want anything to tear."

Alastor cocks his head, trying to divine whether Vox is actually telling the truth, or if he just wants to see Alastor messier. He dips a finger into himself to feel around his walls, and they do feel drier than before. Vox’s eyes follow the movement and his breath comes quicker.

Rolling his eyes, Alastor picks up the lubricant from the bed and lets a few pumps fall to his hand, before spreading the lube between his fingers. He bends down to spread it over the glass dildo, and hears Vox whimper behind him. Degenerate.

When he determines the dildo is sufficiently covered, Alastor tosses the lube back to the bed, wipes his hands off on the sheets and positions himself above the head. He begins to sink down but jolts when his folds make contact. The dildo is cold. He hadn’t felt it with his fingers because of the caps, but the thing feels like it’s been in the freezer. His cunt instantly clenches and he jumps a little, a thin strand of slick connecting the top of the dildo to his hole. His eyes dart forward, hoping Vox isn’t going to make fun of him for the embarrassing reaction, but the man’s eyes are wide, staring at the connection, and exhaling shakily when it breaks. Nevermind. He forgot Vox barely knows the meaning of the word embarrassing.

He seats himself again, better prepared for the temperature. He still shivers a little, but the head pops in unproblematically as Vox moans loudly. Alastor’s hole clenches, the cold causing his muscles to contract. The dildo suddenly feels much wider than it actually is.

Alastor struggles against his instincts, forcing his hole to relax as he sinks down. The more realistic texture of the dildo isn’t particularly helpful either: a thick vein runs along the rear, pulling at the back of his cunt with every inch he takes. He tries to raise the front of his hips to lessen the pull, and moans when the motion crushes the head into his front, against the spot he’d reached earlier. He clenches, relaxes, and slips down further, the head of the dildo dragging against the spongy flesh before pushing deeper inside of him.

Alastor feels himself come to a stop a couple of inches from the dildo’s base. Despite him relaxing most of his weight, his hole still refuses to open any wider than it already has. The glass dildo doesn’t have a particularly severe taper, but it seems Alastor’s cunt has decided this is the exact circumference it will stretch around. He sits panting for a moment, getting used to the feeling, the glass warming up as his insides flutter around it. He can still feel that back vein dragging at his taint, the flesh pulled towards his cunt, and whimpers slightly at the feeling. He looks down at Vox, who looks deranged. His eyes are glued to Alastor’s cunt, and it clenches a little, causing Vox to whine.

"Ca- can you start moving?"

He asks like it’s a request, and not a vital part of their contract. It’s nice, having the man so desperate that he forgets what he negotiated for not thirty minutes ago.

Alastor pushes himself up with his arms, before slowly lowering himself back down. The second thrust is easier, and he thinks he stretches a little more. He continues like this, pulling himself up and down, occasionally pushing his hips forward and leaning back while the dildo is a third in to push it against his spot. He rolls his hips when he lowers himself, and soon, he’s moving quickly, taking the cock to the base.

Vox is panting like a maniac, eyes flicking between Alastor’s face and hole, dick straining against the front of his pants. Alastor isn’t quite sure what possesses him, but when he’s fully seated he slips the fingers of his left hand down and spreads his labia so Vox can see where the glass hammers into him. He smirks as Vox keens, his screen flashing bright before going to colourbars. When he comes back online a few seconds later, Alastor’s hands are back at his sides, but he’s riding the cock pressing into him hard, sweat running down his face.

Vox shuffles closer nigh involuntarily, and Alastor flinches as he feels Vox’s breath brush over his dick. He hasn’t been paying much attention to it, but his cock is semi-erect and visible outside of its hood, which is a rarity. He can just about see the tip poking out of the wrinkled flesh, blushing red and engorged. It’s been so long since he’s seen it erect that he stares for a moment, before Vox huffs a breath against it again, and Alastor shudders.

He glares at Vox, and the man is giving him a faux-innocent look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. He drops it and raises an eyebrow at Alastor, as if saying well, go on. Alastor huffs and begins to pull himself up the length of the dildo again.

When he’s right at the peak, Vox’s smile turns vicious.

He leans up and blows.

Alastor cries out as he loses his balance and slams down the dildo, the unforgiving glass barging its way into his cunt. He’d clenched as soon as Vox’s breath had ghosted against his dick, making the already substantial girth of the cock feel even larger, shoving his seizing muscles apart. He convulses for a moment, trying to catch his breath, but that only pushes the cock further into the spongy tissue at the front of his hole, and he moans helplessly as he tries to escape. This is not going to plan.

"You-" Alastor heaves around the word. He can hear the crackle of static. "You bastard!"

Vox is grinning wide, and he barks laughter, the force of the breath making Alastor spasm again around the dildo. Vox’s hungry eyes track to it, and Alastor flushes. He wants to bring his hands in front to hide himself, but he can’t; he’s stuck here, impaled and twitching in front of his greatest enemy. The humiliation is nauseating. He feels like he’s going to be sick. His cock twitches.

"You ca- can’t touch me without my- my permission." His voice comes out weaker than he’d want, sounding somehow betrayed. "Stop it now."

Vox laughs again, and his expression can’t be described as anything but predatory. "But I’m not touching you!" He blows a puff of air against Alastor again, watching his hips jolt and hole struggle as it clenches. Alastor barely suppresses a whine. He feels himself getting slicker.

"What was it you said? Expressio unius? I can’t touch you with my body, or with objects. If you really want to argue whether breath is an object, we could take it to a judge." He leans in closer. It’s amazing how threatening he can look while on his knees. "I’m not sure you’d want anyone to know about this though.” He blows directly at the head of Alastor’s dick and hums a chuckle when he jolts.

"Go on, then. Up you go. You do have contract to fulfil." At Alastor’s hesitance, he smiles wider, meeting his eyes. "Unless you’re backing out? Too much for the mighty Radio Demon?"

"Fuck. You." Alastor spits.

Vox shivers and leans back onto his knees, seemingly content with torturing Alastor by forcing him up and down the cock for now. His expression is revolting, eyes narrowed in perverted glee and mouth clipping off the sides of his screen as he watches.

Alastor shakily pushes himself up by his arms, hissing at the drag of the standout vein as it tugs at the sensitive skin at the back of his cunt. He lowers himself in increments, slowly taking the cock back into his hole. He repeats the motions, up and down, over and over, until he’s panting, sweaty and moving nearly at the speed he’d slammed down.

His arms grow weaker, somewhat from the exertion, somewhat from his currently limited power. Usually, if he wishes, Alastor can channel strength into his limbs, invisible tendrils snaking around his form to direct him where he wants to go. He has none of that now, and his attempts at pushing himself up turn feeble. He’s barely lifting an inch or two each thrust when Vox speaks up.

"You’re not exactly-" He takes a breath. He sounds as wrecked as Alastor feels, but he’s obviously trying to hide it. "Fulfilling your half of the deal." Confidence creeps its way into his voice, the low tone growing mocking, cruel. "I mean, you are supposed to be getting fucked right now." Alastor looks to Vox’s crotch. His dick is rock hard, compressed by his clothing but still reaching nearly to his navel. His underwear must be in his asscrack right now. Alastor huffs a little giggle at the thought and Vox’s eyes narrow.

"I’m not sure you understand the position you’re in, here." He’s using his CEO voice, the one where he thinks he can just demand whatever he wants and get it. He shouldn’t really be making this mistake with Alastor, God knows he isn’t really impressed by his displays of masculinity, but he takes the opportunity Vox’s ego trip provides to catch his breath.

"If you’re not being fucked against this chair for the next-" he pauses to check his internal clock, the action dulling his momentum a bit. Alastor had honestly expected him to be more articulate during sex. "Thirty-five minutes, you’re not getting your precious beauty rest."

"What about the food?" Alastor asks, tossing some anger into his tone. He isn’t actually that bothered about eating; he’d already accepted he’d be undergoing some level of hardship for his little scheme and plans to be gone within the week, but Vox doesn’t know that. Alastor’s somewhat curious how he’ll respond, if he’s so into his persona that he’ll actually threaten Alastor with starvation, or if he’ll fold under the pressure of Alastor’s anger.

He sees Vox’s expression falter, before re-forming into a smug smile. "One meal a day."

That isn’t too bad, actually. He’d expected worse.

"Vegetables."

Nevermind, Alastor thinks he’d genuinely rather starve. He sighs heavily as if in defeat, and starts lifting himself again. Vox sits back with a self-satisfied smirk like he’s won something here, like Alastor isn’t letting him have it. He’s not typically one to hand over victories, but he doesn’t intend to get out of this contract with Vox. Annoy him, of course, but he plays fair, and is going to give the man something for the amenities he’s bargained for.

…Perhaps for their other contract too. He knows Vox is reaping most of its benefits, but Alastor still feels the need to compensate him for at least some of the humiliation he’s sure to suffer when it shatters. He’ll get over it, even Vox can’t seriously think he can keep Alastor forever, but the initial pain will be sharp. Alastor is a cruel person, but he can be merciful sometimes. He doesn’t think about why he tends to be more merciful with Vox.

Alastor continues lifting himself, minute after minute, until the small amount of strength he’d recovered during Vox’s monologue is depleted. He tries to switch to his feet for balance, but it’s too unstable, and only results in him falling down the length of the dildo again, groaning as it forces open his insides. Vox watches hungrily, panting as he stares down Alastor’s cunt. It must be red now, pulled around the crevices of the glass and rubbed raw. Alastor wonders for a second if Vox can see through it, can see his walls cling to it. Can see inside him.

His arms give out again, and he sits for a second, panting, before he gets an idea. He takes his arms off the rests at his side and places them in front of him, leaning his weight onto them as he pulls up. The arch of his back makes the dildo drag against his spot as he rises and he moans low, but this seems to be the only way he can keep going. He lowers himself again, straightening his arms.

"I can’t-" Vox’s voice breaks through Alastor’s haze. He sounds desperate. "I can’t see you. I can’t see you, Al, you have to let me see you."

Alastor breathes in as bends his arms, pulling the dildo from his hole. It’s easier to maintain his pace if he doesn’t stop, so he continues fucking himself as he replies.

"I don’t recall sa- ah- saying that. Look at me from whatever an- angle you want, but I’m not- not- hah-" Alastor loses his train of thought as the tip of the cock scrapes across his front. "You- I’m doing what you said. I can’t-" He sucks in a breath as he reaches the base of the dildo. "I can’t pull myself up if my arms are bound to the rests."

Vox whines at the refusal.

"You said you wouldn’t hide from me. You said I could see you, please, Al." His voice breaks on the word please. Alastor laughs but ignores him.

"It’s a ne- necessity for the performance of the sub-" He lets out a garbled moan as he loses his grip and slams down. He’s so wet, the slide is easy and he isn’t getting enough stimulation with the slow thrusts he’s been doing. Vox has noticed this, if his answering whimper when the cock shoves into Alastor’s cunt is any indication. "Subject matter of the contract. You ca- the stipulation not to hide myself is se- ah, fuck- secondary to the actual agreement."

Alastor looks down at Vox for the first time since he began speaking again, and he looks crazed. Blocks of colour line his screen, darting from corner to corner as he heaves in breaths. His eyes are open wide, and his pupils are bigger than Alastor’s ever seen them. Red pixels trail down his mouth, along with actual drool falling from its side and running over the borders of his screen. His dick strains against his pants, and Alastor can see his thighs shaking as he struggles to hold still. Every couple of seconds, a spasm racks his body, like he’s the one being fucked rather than Alastor.

"Please." Vox begs, like it’s his only bargaining chip. "Please, Al, fuck, I just want to- I can’t move."

Alastor scoffs. "Yes, you can. Stand up, walk around. If you’re that-"

Vox cuts him off.

"I don’t want to. I want to stay here, I-" He’s begging like a child, and Alastor slowly realises that Vox seems to like being at his feet. That, or between his legs. He’s not sure which option is more perverse.

Alastor sighs and relents. If it keeps Vox as obsequious as he has been, Alastor can compromise his posture a little.

His back is going to be so sore tomorrow.

Once he’s fully seated, Alastor straightens himself and pulls his hands from the seat, moving them back to grip at the rests. Vox looks for a moment like he expects him to begin moving again, but instead, Alastor uses his hold against the rests to shove his hips forwards, forcing his legs wide until they hook over the edges of the chair. He pulls his hands free and plants them against the seat again, wider, to stop his thighs closing. He ends up leaning on his arms, legs spread and thighs quivering as they knock against his wrists with every bolt of stimulation.

From this position, Vox has a direct line of sight to where his cunt is split, clenching and weeping around the glass. Alastor feels slick running lower with this new position, pushing the back of his hips forward so that his hole is not so much facing the chair as it is facing Vox, all but the very back of it on display. It means that an inch or so of the dildo slips from the front of his hole, but also that the bend of it ghosts against his spot at all times, constantly tickling at the sensitive and swollen flesh. Alastor’s thighs quake as he pushes himself up, trying desperately to close, to shield his cunt from Vox’s attention, and he feels their fur tickle at his wrists as they convulse.

He gets back into rhythm, riding the cock, until he drops too fast on one particular thrust and the solid glass punches into his insides. It hurts, and Alastor chokes on a breath and throws his head back as he feels a new wave of slick gushing from his hole. He whines at the pain, pushing further into it, trying to press at the bruise, to make it sting harder. He can feel tears rolling down his cheeks.

After a moment he relaxes, taking in gulps of air, careful not to overindulge. He likes to hurt, but he’s not so keen on being heavily bruised where Vox’s cables bind him to the chair. He startles when he hears a strangled sound under him and looks down to see Vox jolting, his hands against the sides of his head, muffling the moans emitting from his speakers. Alastor can just about pick up the words holy shit, holy shit, and his name, before Vox sags forward, completely silent but for the whirring of his fans and his panting breaths.

Alastor looks down at his trousers. His dick is soft and there’s a wet spot forming underneath the fabric.

Vox still doesn’t look up at him. Whether it’s shame or Vox catching his breath before he makes eye contact again, Alastor has no idea. He has no clue what to say in this situation. Is this what sex is to Vox? Bucking at Alastor’s feet and then coming completely untouched?

"Is this normal for you?"

Vox’s eyes are still fixed to the ground.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" His voice is weak and resigned, as if he already knows he has no way of convincing Alastor it is. While he appreciates the vote of confidence, Alastor doesn’t actually know how Vox has sex, when he typically achieves orgasm; that was why he’d asked. He knows that people can come untouched, and Angel has rather crudely spoken of how it’s a skill in his repertoire, something he’s proud of. And it has been thirty minutes, which Alastor would wager is probably a respectable time for one to engage in sex before having an orgasm. But it’s evident that Vox still feels he’s failed in some way, why, he must be feeling awful if he didn’t even bother to act confident!

Alastor’s smile widens.

“My dear, you know full well I already think you’re a degenerate." He hears a slight hitch in Vox’s fans, pausing before running faster. "I wouldn’t be surprised if you could come pathetically untouched!"

Vox doesn’t respond but his breaths come quicker. Alastor continues.

"I mean really, what kind of desperate creature could actually achieve orgasm just from looking at another person? I’ve been fucking myself for-" Alastor casts his eyes over to the clock as if bored. He already knows what time it is, has been keeping track, but the pause strengthens his command over the room. "The past half-hour, and I’m fairly certain you’re wetter than me!"

Vox whimpers. His shoulders are shaking. Alastor pushes further, harder, meaner.

“I’ve seen your hands twitch, trying to reach for that your pathetically oversized dick. I only put that rule in place because I thought you’d need some manner of stimulation to come, and I am rather disgusted by the idea of some animal convulsing in front of me."

Vox’s dick is hard again and, as if to prove Alastor’s point, his fists clench and unclench, spasming at his sides. Alastor can’t see his face, his head is still down, but he knows it’s filled with glitching blocks, his eyes and mouth appearing and disappearing as he loses control over them. If Alastor’s extra lucky, Vox might even be crying.

Alastor withdraws from Vox, careful not to jostle the dildo he’s still speared on. He imagined he’d have dried up slightly with the lack of action, but he’s actually finding talking down to his silly television is keeping him wet. It’s almost how he felt earlier when he opened himself on his fingers; calm, safe, in control. It’s a different kind of pleasure than the physical type being fucked provides, but he finds he enjoys it equally, if not more.

He shuffles back in his chair, faux-disappointment on his face. He’d stopped leaning fully on his arms long ago, and he returns them to the rests, one laying flat while he sets the elbow of the other down, propping his chin on it to look down at Vox. The man is still shifting uncomfortably, but he hasn’t dared to speak or look up.

"I do suppose that’s all I could expect from you though,” he sighs, disappointment lacing his tone. "After all, there’s little such a pitiful thing can do but chase its own pleasure."

Alastor’s ears prick as he hears a moan fall from Vox’s mouth. He licks his lips as he sees Vox struggle against his own arousal, how his shoulders shake when he breathes in. Alastor almost wishes he could reach out and touch Vox, see how he shudders as Alastor slices into him and laps at the blood. The most unfair part of their contract is that he can’t seriously hurt Vox, can’t butcher him, can’t let out his frustrations on his enemy’s body. He doesn’t know now why he offered that condition, why Vox accepted. They’d both enjoy it anyway.

Vox moans again, quiet and breathy, but Alastor still picks up on it. He observes Vox as he fidgets, trying to find a position less uncomfortable on his cock. He brings his thighs together and Alastor’s eyes widen as he begins rubbing them against each other, panting and moaning as he does. There’s no way he doesn’t know Alastor is watching him, that he’ll notice the blatant violation of their contract. He’s desperate, trying to get Alastor’s attention, his ire, his punishment, anything.

Alastor is all too happy to provide.

"Legs. Open." Alastor speaks the words through layers of static, but Vox can discern them well enough if his sob as he complies is anything to go by.

“I don’t recall saying you could try and get yourself off."

He continues in the same low, growling tone as Vox moves into the position Alastor himself occupied not five minutes ago, arms between his legs, shakily holding them open.

Alastor removes his chin from its perch on his fist and leans forward, his smile cruel. The dildo presses deliciously against his insides.

"Wider."

This isn’t part of their deal, it isn’t something Alastor has the authority to demand, but Vox does it anyway, whining at the stretch as he pushes his thighs apart, securing them with his hands. He stops and pants when he seems to think he’s done enough, trying to catch his breath. Alastor isn’t going to let him.

"Wider."

Alastor hears a helpless little whimper as Vox’s shoulders shake, and he considers for a moment that the man isn’t going to follow his instructions. But Vox folds, as he always does, and lets out a pained noise as he pushes himself further. He only stops when he’s reached his actual limit, thighs nearly a hundred and eighty degrees apart, split as wide as they can go. His hips are raised a little to accommodate the stretch, but Alastor decides to allow it. The stitching at the crotch seam holds, confirming Alastor’s previous theory that Vox’s suit is good quality. There’s no reason his precum should be visible from the outside. Vox must just be that wet.

Vox looks up, and Alastor feels his eyes crease as his grin widens. Vox looks pitiful, eyes wide and tears streaming down his face. He’s glitching heavily; Alastor remembers him talking long ago about being unable to control his screen when so much of his processing power is directed elsewhere. His mouth is still vaguely visible, lips darting around pixels and blocks, parting just enough to heave air into his lungs. It tickles against Alastor’s cunt with every heaving exhale, but Vox looks too out of it to be doing it deliberately. To be doing much deliberately.

Alastor decides to grant his poor friend mercy.

"Touch yourself." Vox moans as soon as he’s granted the permission, hands flying to his belt.

"Over your clothes. I don’t want to see your genitals." He delivers the sentence neutrally, as the statement of fact it is, but Vox still whimpers and shifts, obviously aroused at the idea that his cock is so filthy that Alastor won’t even look at it. One hand moves over his pants and grasps at his dick as the other arm moves back to its previous position, holding him open. He begins jerking himself quick and violent, hand pulling up as if Alastor will revoke his permission at any second. It’s nice, how desperate he is, but Alastor wants to see him more so.

"Slowly. Don’t act like an animal."

More tears fall as Vox groans, following the order. His hand spasms as he drags it up his cock, the front of his trousers darkening even more. He looks pathetic, his dick straining against his pants. It must hurt, pressing against such unforgiving fabric. Good.

Alastor watches as Vox shakily strokes himself base to tip, digging in the pad of his thumb when he reaches the head. He worries it into the fabric, shifting it back and forth along his tip, pressing in desperately, moaning at the stimulation. When it seems too much, he switches back to running his hand up and down his cock, slow as Alastor instructed. His grip is tight as he starts bucking his hips, his little uhs rising in volume. Tears lick over his screen and his thighs start shaking, twitching to close. Alastor can tell he’s on the brink.

"Stop."

Vox whines but ignores the order.

Alastor brings his legs in front of him to slam his hoof into the floor, growling his next words.

"Hands. Off."

Vox turns his screen away, face flushed as he quickens the pace of his hand, trying to finish before Alastor stops him. Alastor has no idea why he thinks he can get away with this.

He raises a leg, steadying himself before he rams the outer edge of his foot into the inside of Vox’s elbow, watching the limb collapse to his side as he wails. His legs start closing and Alastor takes advantage of the balance he has to slam the split front of his hoof against Vox’s sensitive inner thigh, hammering it open. Vox borderline screams.

"Keep them there," he snaps as Vox’s voice quiets, harsh screeches fading into pained whimpers. "I’m doing you the favour of opening your legs so you can beg for more like the animal you are, and you’re not even appreciating the effort."

Alastor leans forward, relishing the little shift in pressure. The dildo slides against him easily; his hole is stretched and he’s only been getting wetter since Vox started whining. He’s starting to understand why people have sex.

He lifts his other leg, bracing his hands against the chair as he delivers a blow to the inside of Vox’s other thigh, the man crying and curling over in pain as he does so. Vox seems to accept his punishment with grace though, or as much grace as he’s capable of in the pathetic state he’s in, and replants his hands in front of his legs, trying to keep himself open. It’s a good start, but he had ignored explicit instructions, and Alastor isn’t quite satisfied with his penance yet.

He raises his leg again, kicking harshly at the junction between Vox’s thigh and his crotch. Vox screams, his hips jerking back and away, head flipping up to gape at Alastor as if betrayed. Alastor only smiles sweetly at him, and Vox quivers as he fights against his instinct to back away and brings his hips forward again. Alastor watches with glee as he kicks into the same junction on the other side.

They continue like this, Alastor beating Vox’s thighs until he’s a shivering mess, legs spasming as they try to prepare for the next hit, and the next, and the next. Alastor grows better at hiding his moves rather than telegraphing them, and alternates hits to strike wherever Vox looks least prepared. He’d pulled up his left leg, watching as Vox’s right thigh tensed, only to hit right under his balls and against his hole. Vox had wailed.

Vox’s legs have closed a little, but Alastor lets them be; he’s fallen back to rest on his feet, and requiring such a stretch while he has no ability to lift his hips would be nonsensical. Even his current position must be torture, spreading himself as wide as he is, pulling the bruised muscles and tendons to their limits, overstretching already damaged flesh. Tears stream down his face, falling freely from the base of his screen. Some hit against his thighs, and Alastor watches every little jolt as the stimulation of even a drop of water proves too much.

He raises his leg one final time, and Vox’s whole body tenses as he screws his eyes shut.

They fly open at the press of Alastor’s hoof against his dick. He buckles, then whines desperately, hands scrabbling for Alastor’s calf when the leg is taken away.

"Back straight now! Look like you have some kind of decorum." Alastor speaks the words teasingly, voice lilting as Vox moans at the degradation. Alastor hadn’t expected it, but he’s having a wonderful time.

Vox pulls himself up again, breath coming heavy. His face is barely visible, coated in cyan and shifting rectangles, but Alastor doesn’t mind. He can still see the tears drip from his face, their origin points changing positions as Vox’s eyes do. He rewards him by replacing his hoof against Vox’s dick, and the man whimpers and immediately begins to hump into it.

Since arriving in hell, most of Alastor is soft, downy brown-black fur running up and down his body. He doesn’t necessarily dislike it, it’s hardly the most difficult part of his hellish form to get used to, but he doesn’t feel it really represents him. Add that to the fact that showing it can invite unwanted touch, and Alastor is typically buttoned up to his neck.

His extremities are different though: tough skin, bone, keratin. His claws shred flesh and his cloven hooves stamp harshly, more weapons than body parts. He prefers these, prefers touching others with them, the dulled sensation making it easier to bear. He pushes his foot further against Vox’s crotch, Vox hissing as the split of his toes opens around the head of his dick. He keeps bucking up, grinding into the only pressure he can get, hands twitching to grab Alastor’s leg but obediently remaining at his sides.

Alastor, for his part, is content just to watch Vox as he whimpers. His face has cleared a little now, the pain of the blows to his thighs receding slightly, so the overstimulation isn’t so stark. The two of them sit in relative silence as Vox chases his orgasm, occasionally looking up at Alastor to check he’s still watching. Alastor is starting to think his voyeurism goes both ways; the man is a performer after all, and has always needed an audience.

When he finally comes, he does so quietly, with a whisper of Alastor’s name his pricked ears only just pick up. Alastor removes his foot, and gives Vox a second. He heaves in breaths and sits back on his heels, slowly recovering control over his limbs. He looks up at Alastor as if asking him what to do next, and Alastor raises a brow.

"Well? You only have fifteen minutes left." He pulls himself off the dildo, wincing slightly as the protruding veins catch on his insides, and stands. He detaches it from the chair with a claw and tosses it on the bed.

"Fetch me the last one."

Vox’s eyes light up as he seems to remember what exactly he’d bargained for with Alastor. As easy as it would be to try and coax Vox into ending their deal early, the man certainly seems passive enough, the slight chance of Vox picking up on what he’s doing and an argument erupting isn’t worth the risk. Alastor has coped fine thus far, and Vox’s good behaviour has him feeling generous.

Vox scrambles to his feet, uncoordinated and briefly wincing at the sting in his thighs. While Alastor has to brave the pain in his hole, his power far too minimal to do anything but keep his chest injury stable, Vox could heal the bruises across his legs instantly. Vox’s eyes flit to his to see if he’s noticed, and dart away when he sees the smirk on Alastor’s face.

He gets to the bed and leans over it, grabbing the dildo from where he’d thrown it behind his back earlier and the lube from the side of the mattress. He passes them to Alastor, who turns to plant the dildo against the chair when Vox speaks.

"Can I-"

His voice is hoarse, likely from the crying earlier. He sounds uncertain, and when Alastor lays down the dildo and lube on the chair and turns to look at him, he won’t meet his gaze.

"Can I have your foot back?"

Alastor bursts out laughing and Vox flushes bright cyan. He struggles to breathe around his giggles, composing himself slightly before Vox mutters it’s not that funny and sets him off all over again. He nearly doubles over with the force of his laughter, and he feels tears come to his eyes as Vox sighs and turns away, resigning himself to the fact that Alastor isn’t going to touch him again tonight. That won’t do. He’s having so much fun!

His arm flies out to grab at the bottom of Vox’s screen and yank it towards his face.

"And here I was, thinking you’d gained some manners in the past ten minutes! What do we say when we want something, hmm?" He giggles a little in between the words and the mockery in his voice is obvious, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Vox if the way his eyes turn pleading is any indication.

"Please."

"Again." Another giggle. He’s not exactly playing the domineering superior very well here, but perhaps it’s the fact that he barely seems to be taking Vox seriously that’s so attractive to the man. He must be really desperate if he’s putting up with this.

"Please, Al, I’ll do whatever you want."

Alastor’s laughter calms and he considers for a moment, trying to determine what he can feasibly ask from Vox that will help him. He won’t have much use for him for a while after this whole fiasco, at least until he builds himself back up, so Alastor returns to material comforts.

"I am to be provided raw venison for at least one meal each day."

"Done."

"I am only to appear on three more television broadcasts."

"Done."

"I can listen to the radio uninterrupted during night hours."

Vox hesitates at this.

"You can only listen, right? Not broadcast or anything?"

Alastor has no idea why Vox thinks he would answer this question honestly if he could, but he nods his confirmation regardless.

"I can change the station and broadcast to radios in my vicinity, but no, I cannot use them to communicate with people outside my range, which is rather limited at the moment." He gestures to his wrist, where the chain Vox has on him hangs, briefly visible.

Vox swallows.

"Okay. Done."

"Wonderful!" Alastor is enjoying dragging these concessions out of Vox, but he’s not going to push his luck too far. Vox is in this wonderfully submissive state at the moment, and he’d rather keep him there. He’s feeling incredibly generous today. "You can rut your pathetic cock against my shoe, then. Hell, I’ll even let you cling to my calf as you do!"

Vox’s breath goes heavier, and he nods, blinking. He’s not even smiling, Alastor thinks he’s probably too far gone to control his expression at the moment. It’s delightful.

Alastor turns back to the chair and picks up the dildo again, planting it against the seat before grabbing the lube and coating it. He squeezes out a fair amount around the top and pulls both of his hands all the way down it, a little shocked at the cold against his palms. As Alastor looks now, he sees the thing is metal, but not overly shiny. He moves slightly to the side so Vox can see his hands work, and chuckles when he hears a groan. Alastor isn’t exactly sure how Vox’s genitals work, but he said this was "one of" his cocks, so he’d assume he’s getting more out of seeing Alastor’s hands on this one than the others. Alastor does that thing he’s seen Vox do while masturbating, dipping his fingertip around the top and rubbing, and Vox audibly swallows, his eyes completely affixed.

When he determines the lube is applied well enough, Alastor removes his hands and turns to face Vox.

"Kneel."

Vox drops to the floor instantly and Alastor leans back towards the chair with a contented sigh. It’s nice to have Vox so pliant and obedient beneath him after the day he’s had.

He grabs at the dildo, lining the tip up with himself before realising the first problem. Even the top of the shaft is so wide that, when Alastor tries to push it in, it catches his folds and tries to pull them into his hole along with it.

He pulls himself up a little and exhales through his nose when he realises what he’s going to have to do here.

He takes his left hand, the claw caps still miraculously intact, and rests the palm of it against the soft fur covering his pubic bone. He dips his index and middle fingers down until they catch against the folds of his hole and pulls them apart, wincing as he does so. Vox’s eyes are glued to him as he spreads his cunt, slick dribbling from the swollen red flesh. He’s begun panting again, and Alastor feels it against himself and clenches, pushing out another translucent string.

He lines himself up and the head slowly pushes in, the stretch of it pulling him open. When it pops in, Alastor pulls back a bit, trying to find his footing, and the little ridge under the head tugs against his rim, keeping it inside him. He moans. It hurts, but the pain is delicious.

With nowhere else to go, Alastor sinks down further. The sides of the dildo are decorated with little diamond bulges arranged in diagonal rows so they remain at a constant overall thickness, whereas the front and back are lined with columns of scales, creating similar ridges to the head. He feels himself widen as he stretches around a scale on each end, then clench as they pop into him. He tries to rear back a little on instinct, his body twitching to escape the sudden sensation, but the same thing happens as with the head; the scales are in now, and their surfaces pull at his insides as he tries to escape them.

Alastor moans hopelessly when he realises the trap he’s fallen into. The further down he sinks, the wider he’s stretched, but every time he makes it past a pair of scales, they flare so he can’t pull back up. He’s stuck, having to sink down and down, stretch further and further, his body torn between accepting the more gradual widening of the next set of scales, or facing the harsh rims of the previous ones. It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. He feels helpless, impaled on this thing and not even halfway down.

He thinks he likes it.

He’s startled by Vox, who has shuffled to his left foot and started grinding against it. He’s clinging to Alastor’s calf as he allowed, but is also resting his screen over Alastor’s knee so he can see him sink further and further onto the cock. He’s got a lazy smirk on his face, like he knew this was going to happen, like he’d engineered this trap himself. Alastor considers shoving his face off before deciding to allow it. He’s not one to accept defeat, but he supposes he can concede this once.

Alastor grits his teeth as he sinks down another scale. He’s stretched so wide that the bumps on the side, previously noticeable but not particularly effective, have begun to press him open, his walls swelling to fill every little gap they make. Alastor’s hands have returned to the armrests, his arms gaining back a little strength while Vox worked himself to his second orgasm. He feels them weakening now, quivering at the strain of holding him up over this monster. He wants to return them to their position in front of him, but he’s not sure his body could hold itself up while he does so, and Vox’s massive rectangular head is in the way. He’s almost considering asking the man to move when Vox tilts his face just a little too much, breathing hot air directly into Alastor’s cunt.

His arms buckle and he instantly falls another two inches. He borderline screams as he does, his cunt stretching wider and wider around the metal cock, and he moans desperately as it sinks halfway down whatever scale it’s stuck on. It takes a moment for him to recover; and when he does, he glares down at Vox, who only answers him with a grin. Alastor steps down hard, crushing Vox’s dick into his stomach. Vox moans and lays his head down against Alastor’s thigh again, pushing his hips further into Alastor’s foot like an animal. As if Alastor could expect anything more from him.

When he feels his voice won’t shake too obviously, Alastor whets his lips and speaks.

"How many more?"

Vox knows what he’s talking about, but flips his screen up to check, before laying it back down against Alastor’s knee and speaking surprisingly clearly. His voice must come through the sides of his head.

"Two. Then the knot."

"The what?"

"The knot, the…" Vox detaches one hand from Alastor’s calf and waves it around indecipherably. "The bulge at the bottom of the cock."

Alastor had almost forgot about that, the fact that there was still more to take, that the dildo widened so much at the end. He’d expected to be scared by the thing, but he just feels…hungry. The same way he is for a meal, this animal urge to take more, to take deeper. He feels his mouth watering. Vox’s perversion must be contagious.

He puts his arms against the rests and pulls himself up, wincing as he goes. He moans in pain as the first scale pops out of him, and then again at the next one. Vox has turned his screen back to watch, but is clearly trying to regulate his breathing, keeping it shallow and slow, and he angles his face so the little puffs of air land more against Alastor’s thigh than his hole. His eyes are wide, red taking up most of the top half of his screen as his teal pinpricks lock to Alastor’s cunt. A little stream of slick spurts out when Alastor pulls himself off the next scale, and Vox moans as he watches it trickle down the metal dick, humping into Alastor’s foot and tightening his grip.

When Alastor finally reaches the head of the dick, he’s panting, breaths punched out of him. He lowers himself carefully onto one scale, two, but his arms give out and his eyes roll back in his skull as he slams back down.

Vox shudders and shoves his dick further into Alastor’s toe, moaning when he feels it twitch against him. He digs his claws into Alastor’s leg tighter, and Alastor hisses then gasps, the pain in his leg drawing his focus enough for his hole to relax, slipping down another scale.

The bulges along the dildo’s side are nigh unbearable at this point, rubbing his inner walls raw. With every little hitch of his hips they scratch him deeper, and he can’t imagine how his cunt must look now: red, swollen, and ruined around a cock he still hasn’t fully taken. He whines and feels the bulges itch against him as he sinks another centimeter, their complete lack of give forcing his walls to contort around them.

The burn on his insides is inescapable, every readjustment only making things worse. He jolts as one bulge rubs at a particularly sore area of his flesh, only for the ones on the other side to press further against him. He briefly ping-pongs between them, his hips desperately trying to escape the pain, but they can’t. He leans backwards a little and convulses when the cock presses into the spongy tissue at the front of his hole. His hips fly up, as if trying to pull him off the weapon pressing into him, but he only catches against the rims of those scales again and sinks back down with a sob. He twitches desperately, trying to escape the sensation at his front, but even that shoves the dildo deeper into him, stretching him wider, wider, wider, until the final set of scales pop in.

Alastor arches and screams as his vision goes dark.

…

When Alastor comes to, Vox is no longer at his feet.

He can’t have been out that long, mainly because he can still feel slight tremors wracking his body, and the warmth on his calf from Vox’s hands. He looks to his side, wincing at the pull in his hole as he turns his body. Vox is sitting on the bed, watching Alastor with a smarmy grin, as if he hadn’t just been grinding his cock desperately into Alastor’s toe.

"With three minutes to spare."

Alastor isn’t sure what he’s talking about for a moment, but it comes to him and he huffs.

"Yes, congratulations, you were, in fact, able to make a man come after fifty-seven minutes. It’s hardly an achievement to be proud of."

"Come on, Al, give me some credit." Alastor will be doing no such thing, and signals as much by rolling his eyes. "In most sex you actually touch the other person. Believe me, I have a much faster record when I’ve got my hands on someone."

He hoods his eyes and flicks out his tongue, as if that’s actually meant to do anything but disgust Alastor.

"I’m sure you do! But unfortunately, our encounter is complete here, and so you won’t be getting a chance to demonstrate!"

Vox seems to lose a bit of confidence at the words and turns around dejectedly to gather up the used dildos.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get yourself up and I’ll start running a bath, I know your prissy ass won’t make do with a shower. I got Ethan to bring up these fancy soaps too, Vel swears they’re-"

"Get myself up?"

Alastor’s slightly confused at the instruction. He’s no longer twitching, but his muscles are still sore. If he had his usual power, he’d have no trouble getting off the chair, but as it stands, he rather humiliatingly needs Vox’s help.

"Yeah, just lift yourself-"

Vox stops himself mid-sentence and for a second, the penthouse is silent.

Then he turns back to Alastor, eyes wide and smiling like the predator he is.

“Lift yourself off. Surely it’s not such a difficult task for the mighty Radio Demon to accomplish?"

Alastor only gawps.

"But you- don’t you-" He almost asks if people are usually so boneless and strung out after sex, before realising what an embarrassing thing that is to ask. If the answer is no, it gives Vox more ammunition, and it’s not like he has any particular incentive to be honest if the answer is yes. Alastor huffs and turns up his nose.

The only way out of this is through. If Vox won’t help him, he’ll help himself.

He plants his arms against the rests and begins lifting. He moans in pain when the first scale pulls from his cunt, as it drags against the raw flesh at the back of his hole. He grits his teeth and pulls himself up another, hurt little sounds falling from his lips. Vox is watching with wide eyes, glued to the lines of his cunt as it struggles against each ridge.

He gets to the top of the next scale, but the pain is too much, it’s impossible to pull himself over its edge. He lets out an uncertain noise, trying to decide whether to lower himself slowly down and try again, or continue, whether this is the strongest he’s going to be for a while.

His arms decide for him as they falter and buckle, and he screams when he loses his balance, bulges and scales and inches of cock slamming back into his cunt. He can feel tears beginning to cluster at the corners of his eyes, and hangs his head so he can’t see Vox, who he’s sure is seconds away from laughing. This is humiliating.

Alastor catches his breath, stifles a whine, and tries again.

The same thing happens.

He tries over and over, but it’s all too much, the pain of swollen flesh distending around unforgiving metal. Vox’s joy is audible now, laughter interspersed with groans and whispered fucks as Alastor suffers around the cock.

"You know, Al, if you want to keep fucking yourself on my cock, you can just ask." The words come out low and staticky and Alastor shivers in revulsion as another spurt of slick drips from his hole. "I’m honestly surprised-" Vox says the word with an awkward little laugh- "you’ve turned into such a slut after just an hour!" Alastor growls and glares at Vox, who flinches, but otherwise keeps up the persona, hands held up by his shoulders and flapping around. He looks a strange cross between horny and enraptured, red drool spilling from his lips.

"I mean, it’s barely been five minutes since you came and you’re already hard again!" Alastor’s head snaps down against his chest in shock at the words, and he realises with mortified dismay that Vox is right. His dick is visible through the thatch of fur lining his crotch, its engorged head poking from the hood. His cunt clenches around the cock stretching it and he whimpers as his insides rub against its uneven surface.

He is detaching himself from this thing right now. Fuck Vox, fuck his teasings and provocations, Alastor is getting himself off.

He brings his arms back to their previous position between his legs for more leverage, and begins pulling himself up. This goes well enough for the first few inches, but then the forward tilt of his hips combined with the backwards arch of his back shoves the head of the dick directly into his spot, and he howls as he rears back, cock ramming into him. Vox squawks and runs behind him, placing his hands against the headrest of the chair to stop it toppling over. Alastor almost considers trying to do so deliberately, but he decides against it; while gravity certainly isn’t helping, his key problem is how strongly his cunt clings to the cock splitting him, which writhing around on the floor is unlikely to help with. He doesn’t have much dignity left in this situation, but he’d prefer to keep what little he has.

He tries a couple more times with his hands in front, Vox standing over him at his back, neck bent unnaturally as he tries to look down Alastor’s body without his massive flat head cutting into his chest. Alastor has no luck; no matter what he tries, he can’t pull himself up at an angle that doesn’t scrape against the spongy tissue at the front of his hole. He’s exhausted, sweating, and collapses forward in the chair, hair falling over his face. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see Vox right now.

There’s silence for a few seconds, Vox seemingly giving Alastor time to recover before goading him again. Either that, or he’s correctly deduced that overstimulation makes Alastor impulsive and violent, and is trying to avoid his wrath. Alastor feels himself smile a little at that. He can’t truly hurt Vox, at least not in any lasting way due to their contract, but he’s glad that even like this, even as he’s wrecked and panting, Vox still fears him. He might be the only one in the Pride Ring that currently does.

Alastor decides to make his final attempt before Vox tries to speak again and throw off his focus. He tries his best to quiet his mind, focus on nothing but the rhythm of his breaths as he brings his arms back to the rests, closes his eyes, and begins to push.

His cunt drags over the edge of the first scale, and he flinches as it pops out.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Push.

He keeps going, a little aborted whine testing his lips as he pulls off the next one.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Push.

The next scale grinds against the back of his hole and he feels his arms tremble as he fights to stay up. His teeth grit, his eyes screw, and his ears ring. His arms hold.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Push.

He feels the pop of the next scale, hole clenching as it desperately clings to the dildo. It’s beginning to narrow, and Alastor’s swollen insides practically bulge to fill every gap it leaves, the pressure ever so slightly decreasing. He’s beginning to think he can do this.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Push.

Alastor jolts as the head of the cock puts the slightest pressure on his spot as he continues his rise. He’s almost done now, there’s only one scale left, then the head. He can hear nothing but his own harsh breathing, Vox having gone completely silent. Alastor smirks. The man must have nothing to say.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Push.

The final scale slips free of Alastor’s hole, and he practically sobs in relief when he feels the smoother surface of the head’s base. The ridges of each scale lie borderline perpendicular to the body of the dildo, forcing his hole apart around sharp inclines. In contrast, the slope of the head is shallower. It’s still a stretch, but a far more manageable one.

He’s done it.

He’s won.

Revelling in his victory, he tilts his head back. He lets a satisfied smile split his face. He opens his eyes.

Vox is no longer behind him.

Alastor’s head flies down.

Vox is kneeling at his feet.

He’s leaning forward, smile wide.

He doesn’t look like he’s lost at all.

Alastor realises what’s coming and his eyes fly wide. He tries desperately to buck, to pull the head out, but he’s tightened too much, his hole clenching in preparation for what’s coming.

Vox purses his lips and blows.

Alastor screams as he’s slammed back down the length of the cock, inch after inch forcing their way into him as his claws scrabble at the armrests. The way his cunt tightened right before the drop only makes the cock feel massive as he sobs around it, his already bruised muscles battered further into submission. The sheer force of it, the speed with which every scale and bulge rams into his abused hole makes him wail, thighs shaking as he’s rubbed raw. He feels like he’s falling forever, absolute agony lacing his hole as it spams desperately around the girth of the cock, trying and failing to find some sort of purchase. His cunt is nothing more than a site of red hot pain, viciously impaled on the cock forced into him, and Alastor can do nothing more than shake as he rides out another orgasm.

When he comes to, Vox is still blowing teasing little puffs against his raw and spasming cunt. The stimulation is too much, and he tries to back away from it, only to cry out as the cock pushes further into him. He’s trapped between sensations, his hips moving back and forth on instinct in an attempt to escape. After nearly a minute of raw screaming agony, Vox finally lets up.

Alastor collapses backwards, his chest heaving as he convulses. His head falls against the top of the chair, and he feels tears stream down his face, dripping from his chin and running down his neck. His breathing has just returned to something approaching normal when Vox speaks.

"Are you-" He sounds slightly amazed, awe clouding his voice. "Are you trying to take the knot?"

Alastor flinches, only to realise that he can no longer feel the bumps and scales at the entrance to his hole, instead being stretched around some veiny, textured sphere. Oh, please. Please no.

"I’m trying to get off!"

Alastor barely recognises his own voice, his vocal cords raw. He sounds like his throat has been ravaged, like every organ in his respiratory system is shutting down. Vox only shivers and licks his lips.

"Oh, I can tell that, baby," he says lowly, static curling around the words. He brings his lips together, and before Alastor can react, he’s blowing right into his cunt again.

Alastor screeches, his claws shredding through the armrests they’re perched on, leaving him only the sides of the chair for him to support his weight. His legs are spread wide, and though his toes touch the ground, he doesn’t think they’re stable enough for him to rest any weight on. He’s panting and struggling, the weight of his entire body forcing him onto the cock rubbing him raw, and he feels himself slipping further down the knot. Oh God.

"P-please!" he wails, suddenly terrified. His cunt drips with slick, he can feel it fill the tiny gaps in his walls when the dildo moves. He can’t take it, he can’t, he’ll be recovering until next month.

"Please, s-stop! I ca- hah- I can’t take it!" He practically screams the words, his cries echoing around the room. Vox only grins and blows harder, resulting in more screams as Alastor feels himself clench, unclench, drop further. He’s not sure he’ll survive this.

"Honestly, Al, I would have assumed you’d be better with contracts!" The words are said with pure untainted glee, Vox thrilled at Alastor’s spasms and screeches. "How in the seven rings did you miss a loophole that would allow me to torture your hole without ever touching you?"

Alastor reddens. Vox is right, he should have seen this coming, been better than this.

“Not everyone- hah- is a degenerate freak like you-" he spits, with all the vitriol he can muster, desperately trying to continue the talking, anything to stop Vox forcing him further onto the knot. "Of course I wouldn’t think you’d be at my feet like a- fuck- like a dog, panting into my hole. Next you’ll- you’ll be slobbering over it, you fucking animal." He growls the last words, hoping to sound threatening, but sounding more like he’s reaching the end of his tether.

Vox’s eyes widen, and Alastor is momentarily hopeful that the degradation has got him back to that submissive state where he’ll beg to fuck himself against Alastor’s shoe.

That hope is shattered when Vox’s eyes lid, a shark’s smile spreads over his screen, and he stands up.

Alastor is stiff and silent as Vox leans over him. He places his hands by Alastor’s sides, planting them between Alastor’s own and where his shaking thighs bracket the seat. He opens his mouth, glowing blue tongue unfurling inch after inch, until it’s simply hanging from his mouth, its length close to Alastor’s handspan.

Alastor watches as spit coagulates along Vox’s tongue, rolling down the appendage. He realises what’s happening and tries to shift away, only to fuck himself further down the dildo, walls stretching ever wider. He thinks he feels pressure against his pubic bone.

Vox’s spit drips from his tongue and lands directly on the head of Alastor’s cock, and Alastor throws his head back as he screams. The liquid travels slowly down the short length of it, before splitting off, half trailing down to his cunt, and half slipping into the little pocket of flesh at the base of his dick. Alastor whines, trying to get it out, stop it from crowding his nerve endings, but Vox is already summoning another glob, which he lets fall slightly on the other side of Alastor’s cock, running down it, settling snugly in his hood. Alastor screeches, bucking as Vox laughs madly over him.

He does it again and again, sometimes aiming for Alastor’s cock, sometimes running the spit over his cunt, the liquid rolling down his folds until it reaches the dildo, shiny against the metal. To his utter horror, Alastor feels himself getting harder, wetter, at the overwhelm, at Vox’s revolting bodily fluids coat him.

Vox brings his head closer down and Alastor whines, pushing weakly at his screen with one hand as he desperately tries to hold himself up with the other. The imbalance leads to him slipping, and he howls as he feels the back of his hole slip over the knot. He doesn’t even have the mercy of the front slipping back thanks to the network of veins protruding from it, catching his retreating folds.

Alastor feels tears rolling down his cheeks, dripping onto his shirt. His breathing speeds up, every exhale a helpless whimper.

The cock reaches so deep.

He’s pulled so wide.

His red-raw cunt feels ruined.

Vox can’t see what’s happened, but if the wonder on his face is any indication, he can tell. Alastor feels his dick poke against his leg, rock hard. It’s there for one second, then gone. Alastor’s overfucked brain is confused for a few seconds before he figures it out. Vox is still sticking to the rules of their contract, even after Alastor’s orgasm. He’s still not touching him without permission. Alastor lets out a hoarse laugh which turns to a pained moan as the motion jostles the dildo inside him.

Vox whets his lips, and raises his eyes to Alastor’s.

"I-" He stutters, then takes a deep breath. "I really want to see you take that." Alastor whines in despair, his head falling back. "I know it’s a lot, but I know you can do it, Al, fuck, you’re so hot-" His words are coming fast, uncontrolled, as if he isn’t thinking before he speaks. Like he ever does. "You can take it, I know you can, your hole just stretches around anything, it’s like you’re fucking elastic-" Alastor is sure this is terrible dirty talk, but Vox keeps going, his brain-to-mouth filter nonexistent. "Imagine how good it’ll feel, how full you’ll be once it’s in you, plugged up but still weeping, open so wide over my cock, fuck, Alastor-" Vox seems to have accidentally made himself more horny than he has Alastor, and Alastor angles his eyes down just enough to see his hand twitch towards his dick, before retracting. Good boy. "I need it, Al, I need you to take it, fuck, please. Please take it."

"What-" Alastor heaves a breath in. Though he logically knows the metal cock isn’t that big, he feels like his diaphragm is being crushed. "What’s in it for me?" He looks down his nose at Vox, trying to affect indifference. He’d done this before and it’d worked, but he’s in a much worse negotiating position now, face flushed and hair sticking to his nape as pain laps at his cunt. It doesn’t seem to matter to Vox.

"Anything." Vox says the word with utmost sincerity, as if he really means it.

"Your soul?" Alastor asks shakily, just to see how out of his mind Vox really is.

"Not that," he answers automatically, causing Alastor to huff out a laugh.

"Smart boy." Vox shivers. Alastor tilts his head as if thinking, taking another moment to breathe before speaking. He already knows what he’s asking for.

"A favour. Nothing to do with our contract, or any contract of yours for that matter." He heaves in another breath and holds up a shaky hand as Vox prepares to argue. "And it won’t hurt you or your Vees. Just, in the future, should I need something from you, I can have it."

Alastor’s world is built of contingencies on top of contingencies on top of contingencies. Everything he has is circumstantial, is subject to flux, the whims of Rosie, of Charlie, of Vox. He doubts Vox’s obsession with him will every truly vanish, but exactly how that obsession manifests is less predictable than he’d like to pretend. That’s why he likes these little contracts, these lines in the sand. They offer him surety, the guarantee that he can call on someone’s aid, even if just once. God knows people don’t typically want to help him.

"You can’t-" Vox begins. He sounds a little unsure. "You can’t make me cut off Val and Vel. I do love them, and I’m not giving them up, even for you."

Alastor feels a brief pang in his chest. Both of them know that Vox is his, always will be, but that doesn’t stop him from having things of his own. People of his own. He has something outside of himself, something outside of Alastor, and the thought is discomforting. Alastor’s favourite possession, slowly slipping out his grasp.

He rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes. There’s- There’s no need to be dramatic. As funny as it would be to split up your little team this late in the game, I do actually have interests besides you." Vox pulls an offended face at Alastor’s words, but he does relax, his shoulders falling from their defensive position. "No, I’m far more likely to call on your resources or power, but if- if I could tell you what I wanted now, I wouldn’t really need the favour in the first place!"

Vox is silent for a moment, seeming to run potential loopholes through his head before he nods, and offers his hand. Alastor gingerly raises one arm from where it’s holding him up, even as Vox winces, and places their palms together. They shake.

"You know it’s the same rules as the last agreement, right? Pavlov and everything?"

Alastor sighs, placing his arm back down and resting on his haunches. He doesn’t need Vox to pity him, to try and stop things on his account. He’s too deep into this to stop now anyway.

"Yes, alright. I am going to need your help to get over this thing though, the size of it is quite excessive."

Vox grins as he turns back to the bed and grabs the lube. "Did you really expect anything less?"

"No, I suppose not. You always were obsessed with your own masculinity, making your penis ridiculously large only feels like a natural follow-on."

Vox barks a laugh. "Do not say penis, oh my God, you sound like a textbook."

He arrives in front of Alastor and plants his hands on his hips.

"Okay, I’m going to need permission to touch you. I’m only planning on putting the lube around the knot itself, but, realistically, my fingers are going to be touching your hole."

Alastor huffs a little, eyes darting away.

"I am aware of that. I thought I had already given permission by even agreeing to this."

Vox rolls his eyes.

"You know damn well if you told me to apply this with a grabby hand from three feet away I’d do it immediately." A beat. "I mean, I’d probably have to find one first, but you get what I’m saying."

A traitorous little huff escapes Alastor’s lips and Vox smiles wide.

"Now, before we do that, we’re gonna have to get you we- aroused if we have any hope of actually getting it in you, so!" Vox leans down, and grins at Alastor.

"What can I do to help?"

He looks so happy that Alastor can’t help but try to ruin it.

"Leave, probably."

It doesn’t work, Vox simply snorting and shaking his head.

"Okay, actually though."

Alastor considers briefly. "My dick." Vox gawps at the bluntness of Alastor’s words, and his smile reaches his eyes as he hmphs. "I did enjoy when you blew on it. As revolting as it was for you to drool all over me, the contact did stimulate the nerves."

Vox’s mouth doesn’t close, as if he’s stunned by the fact that Alastor actually enjoyed sex with him. He’s not sure why Vox thought they were doing this otherwise; Alastor does have some standards. Vox looks to him, incredibly hopeful.

"Can I suck it?"

Alastor barks out a laugh, then hisses at the lance of pain in his cunt. Vox looks incredibly depressed.

"No, I’m afraid not, you’ve got more than enough out of me tonight."

Alastor isn’t exactly being subtle; both of them know the "tonight" is thrown in just to prevent Vox arguing, but he takes the bait anyway with an eyeroll.

"Okay, fine. Is there anything else I can do for your cock, then?" The sentence is ridiculous, but the sliver of sincerity Vox says it with makes it difficult to laugh.

"Not really. I-" Alastor hesitates, unsure if Vox will let him have this. He knows how much the man wants to have him. "I’d prefer to touch it on my own."

Vox’s face lights up.

"Without you watching."

It falls immediately.

"No, please, Al, please, I promise I can be good, I’ll only do what you say." Alastor’s shoulders raise. Can Vox just take a rejection for once? "I- I can make you so wet, I promise, I know where to touch you-"

"You don’t know shit."

The words must come out with a little too much anger, because Vox steps back and raises his hands. Alastor only then realises he’s fully hunched over, choking out breaths, antlers straining against his head. He’s given a lot to Vox tonight, been very generous, and while he can’t explain precisely why he recoils so heavily at the thought of touch against his dick, he knows he doesn’t want it. He’s terrified by the thought that Vox might do it anyway. He can’t fight back, he can’t do anything in this position, fuck, why was he so stupid-

"Okay."

Vox’s tone is soft, like he’s trying to comfort a wounded animal, and Alastor would take offence at any other time, but the utter sincerity with which the word is spoken only soothes him. His antlers stop grinding against his skull.

"I got it, I fucked up. I won’t watch you. Fuck, I can turn around if you want to, or- or we can stop right now, we don’t have to do anything. I can help you up."

Alastor is silent as Vox continues.

"I can- fuck- do you want a bath? I can run you a bath, I’ve got this massive tub in my en suite, even though Val says it’s unnecessary when we have-"

"Shut. Up."

Vox complies immediately, and Alastor can see him shifting nervously from foot to foot out of the corner of his eye. He seems scared. Of what, Alastor’s not exactly sure, he holds all the cards here, but he takes comfort in the fact that he’s not the only one having a crisis at the moment.

He heaves in a breath. He’s fine. He can control this.

"I…apologise for my earlier tone. It was hardly professional."

Vox’s jaw drops open, and Alastor resists the urge to laugh. It’s amazing how well a man with such limited facial real estate can convey bewilderment.

"Fuck professionalism, you think I care about that right now? Fuck, Alastor, are you okay?"

Alastor rolls his eyes. He’s not sure okay is the correct word to describe his emotional state right now, but he’s nowhere near the state he was in a minute ago. He’s at least aware enough to feel embarrassed at his show of weakness.

"I’m fine, my dear fellow! Goodness, you’d have thought I had a total breakdown!" Vox opens his mouth to argue, and Alastor quickly resumes speaking. "I assure you, I am completely alright. You’d merely startled me, that’s all. I wasn’t aware you’d be so desperate to serve me that you’d actively beg for your hands dirtied!"

This is a complete and total lie, and both of them know it, but Vox closes his mouth with a huff of defeat. Alastor has smoothly paved over his previous blunder, and Vox knows trying to excavate it now will only go poorly for him. While he has a terminal fascination with needling Alastor over any perceived vulnerability, he’s not going to continue doing so now when the alternative is continuing their previous activities.

"I don’t beg." Vox says petulantly, and Alastor briefly wonders if the man lives in a completely different dimension, or simply erases his own memories of whenever he does something embarrassing. It would certainly explain how he maintains his ego despite constant reminders of his own inferiority.

"Whatever. So I’m not gonna be watching, but could I listen when you touch yourself?

Alastor thinks on it, before deciding the idea isn’t so bad. He’s more able to control the noises he makes, and Vox simply hearing him doesn’t demand as much response as him watching. Alastor can’t resist the urge to make fun though.

"Finally coming around to the fact that audio is the superior medium?"

Vox rolls his eyes, but he’s obviously playing it up.

"Whatever gets you to moan louder, babe."

Alastor’s entire face scrunches at the pet name, and Vox barks out a laugh.

"Okay, okay, turning around now."

Vox does, and Alastor stays still for around ten seconds. When Vox doesn’t turn back or ask why he hasn’t started, he resigns himself to the fact this is all the confirmation that Vox is keeping his promises that he’s going to get. Alastor can’t sense any camera signals, and Vox made a big show of cutting them earlier, but it always pays to be careful.

Alastor reaches his hand down towards his dick, hissing as he presses into it with the pad of his thumb. It’s sensitive, typically far more so than his cunt, but with how much it’s been abused tonight, he doesn’t register the pressure as much.

Alastor takes his time, squishing his dick back against his hood with his thumb, before removing it and letting it spring back out. He does this a few times, starting weaker, but increasing the force until his dick bulges around his thumb when he pushes it back. He’s started to moan, soft little ahs spilling from his lips, and he can tell Vox is getting uncomfortable, hands squeezing at his sides.

"Al, can I- can I touch myself?"

Alastor supposes he’s been good the past few minutes, accommodating where he didn't have to be. He heaves a put-upon sigh.

"If you must."

Vox’s fist pumps before his hands move to his belt. Alastor huffs a laugh at the enthusiasm and switches to his index and middle fingers, spreading them to stroke his cock from both sides. He feels his cunt clench as his hips jolt.

“Can I- Sorry, I forgot to ask-" Vox sounds sheepish. "Can I touch myself, like, skin-to-skin?"

Alastor doesn’t care enough about this to argue right now.

"Fine. Just make sure I don’t see it." He must not sound invested enough in Vox’s genitalia because he opens his mouth again, even as his hands struggle with his belt.

"Do you seriously not want to see my cock?" He sounds hurt, like it’s some kind of insult. Alastor scoffs. Men.

"No, Vox, I do not want to see your cock. For that matter, I don’t really want to see anyone’s. I barely want to see my own."

Vox hums in thought, then makes a little noise of realisation, like he’s put two puzzle pieces together.

"So, what, you’re just like, into clothes?"

Unfortunately, the puzzle pieces don’t fit. They’re not even from the same jigsaw. Why Vox thinks this is a good time to have a conversation is beyond Alastor, but he’s quite enjoying the feeling of his fingers clasping his dick, so he allows it.

"I’m not into clothes. I just don’t like people’s naked bodies. I’m- ah- perfectly fine with people showing some skin-" Vox’s breath quickens and he jolts forward like he’s imagining Alastor doing so, at least more than he already is. Pathetic. "But even in my day, people didn’t just- mmh- have their genitals out."

For some inexplicable reason, Vox seems to feel the need to argue. "But that’s not like, during sex, though. I know you don’t have a lot of it, but I’d figure even you would be fine with seeing people’s junk in some contexts."

Alastor rolls his eyes, even though Vox can’t see him. He doesn’t want to get into this, it’s an impulse he barely understands himself, and he’s not going to try and justify his preferences to a man who, not an hour earlier, came humping his foot. He ignores Vox as much as he can and pulls his fingers to the very tip, whimpering when they drag against some sensitive nerve. Vox seems to get the message after a few seconds and sighs, going back to stroking himself.

Finally free from Vox’s attempts at conversation, Alastor fully focusses his attention on his task. He doesn’t imagine he’s particularly good at masturbating; when he does get horny it’s more of an unfortunate accident, some stinging pain or wonderful meal, and he generally ignores it until it goes away. But Alastor is nothing if not a quick learner, and runs his fingers over each square inch of flesh, trying to figure out what works.

He chokes out a groan when he slips a capped claw under his hood, sliding it around the rim of his base. His hips buck on instinct and he feels the cock spearing him move, smoother thanks to the slick he’s built up. He feels some of it slip out, running painfully over the folds of his cunt and his whimpers grow louder. Vox seems to be enjoying the show, if his answering whine is any indication. Alastor grins and turns his claw slightly, trying to get it horizontal in the little pocket of skin. He keens as the movement shoves his hood and dick further apart, just the right side of painful.

He’s glad now that he’d found Vox’s caps, without them he’d surely be cutting into the flesh. With how hard he is, the blood would gush. He shivers at the thought, feeling a fresh wave of slick drip from his hole.

He trails his other hand down to his cunt, and slowly traces his fingers over the folds. He whines as he does, even the slightest bit of sensation burning against the abused flesh. He takes them away as he goes back to stroking up and down his dick, only to return them when the sensation fizzles out. He’s working himself up, and feels as he did when he took the last scale, right on the verge of orgasm. Regretfully, he removes his hands. As much as he’d like to come, he’s pretty sure he only has one left in him, and if he wants to actually hold up his end of the contract he’s going to have to make it count.

"Vox?"

"Yeah?" Vox sounds wrecked, like listening to Alastor while not being able to touch him is torture. Alastor’s smile broadens.

"I think I’m ready."

Vox whimpers. "Okay, yeah, fuck, give me a minute." His hands come down to fumble with his dick and refasten his belt, but he’s still obviously hard. Alastor feels sorry for Vox’s dry cleaner before he realises the man is probably just going to burn the clothes. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money for new ones. They are nice though, it’s a shame.

Vox walks back over from where he’d stood meters away, and picks up the lube. He struggles with the bottle, his hands clearly somewhat wet and slippery, but eventually depresses the head enough to pump some out onto his hand. He kneels between Alastor’s legs again and smiles up at him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Alastor turns his head away. He’s sure he’s flushed.

"I’m going to start now."

"I’m not a child, get on with it."

Vox’s fingers start at the base of the dildo, circling around it from front to back. They eventually start rising, and Alastor yelps and twitches when Vox’s fingers touch his rim, the sounds turning into a whine when the movement pulls at his hole. Vox’s fingers are somehow cold, but the lube burns at his cunt, making it itch and chafe.

Vox pulls his fingers away immediately. "Too much?"

"No, it just-" Alastor shuts his mouth as he considers whether to voice his concerns or just let Vox continue. Vox is silent, patient for once in his life. Eventually, the need to know if something is wrong outweighs the embarrassment. "Is it meant to burn?"

Vox swallows before replying, eyes darting between Alastor’s face and his cunt. He feels himself twitch.

"No, it- it isn’t, I- I can switch to another one." Vox starts getting up, but Alastor reaches out to grab his wrist.

"No, I mean." He takes a breath. "I mean will it injure me?"

Vox looks to Alastor’s grip on his arm, and the man retracts his hand on reflex. Vox is obviously upset at the loss of contact, but he pulls himself together. "It shouldn’t. It can hurt, especially if you’re-" He motions down at where Alastor’s stretched. God. He doesn’t even want to know what Vox is seeing right now. "But no, it won’t cause lasting injury."

"Okay." Alastor says, voice small. He’s not going to say aloud what both of them already know. Vox seems to understand, and retakes his seat between Alastor’s legs.

His hands return, and Alastor, better prepared this time, bites his lips and clutches the sides of the chair as Vox slides his fingers against his hole. The preparation doesn’t take too long, but Alastor shudders and whimpers at the irritation. He tastes blood when Vox’s fingers gently stroke along the back of his cunt, where the vein of the previous dildo had dragged and moans through his teeth as he somehow gets wetter.

When Vox is done, he lowers himself back down to his knees, just staring into Alastor’s cunt as if in awe. Alastor kicks Vox lightly in the leg and earns a sheepish grin in return.

"What I wouldn’t give to eat you out right now."

Alastor’s not sure precisely what that means, but finds himself marginally more interested than he would be in other sex acts. He takes a guess.

"Put that tongue anywhere near me and I’ll rip it off."

Vox shivers. It seems he was correct. "Don’t threaten me with a good time."

Alastor rolls his eyes at the man’s never-ending masochism. He’s really regretting not allowing maiming in their original contract.

"What am I-" Alastor hates asking for help, but in this case, it’s necessary. As much as he loves pain, he doesn’t actually want to tear himself. At least not when he can’t heal it. “What am I supposed to do now."

"Try raising yourself up again. It’s going to hurt, a lot, but-" Vox waves a hand indistinctly, gesturing at what they both already know. Alastor’s glad he doesn’t say the words. "It’s been a few minutes since you last moved, so we do need your hole to get used to stretching again."

"I don’t know-" The humiliation continues. "I don’t know if I can."

The look on Vox’s face is one of genuine surprise, like he’d expected Alastor to have more strength. It’s probably a mistake to give away how weak he is right now, but if this is going to get done at all, he’s not going to be able to do it alone. Vox opens his mouth to speak and Alastor cuts him off.

“I don’t want your hands on me. Are you able to stop your cables sparking right now?"

Vox leans forward, likely involuntarily, eyes wide and eager. "Yes! Yes, yes, I can, I can do that, please, please let me help you, Al."

Alastor rolls his eyes, admittedly somewhat fondly. Vox is far too easy. He replies theatrically, performing for an audience when he heaves an overstated sigh.

"I suppose." It’s obvious that he’s playing with Vox, laughing at his excitement, but that only seems to make him more enthusiastic.

"Tha- Thank you." He says the words like he’s been blessed. "Where do I- Where do I put them?"

Alastor pauses to think. His neck is a no-go, and he’d prefer his torso, given it’s still clothed. He’d say his chest, it gives more leverage under his arms, but he can’t really trust Vox not to be strange about it.

"My waist." Alastor leans forward to stare into Vox’s eyes, intentionally letting the points of his teeth show. "If they climb an inch higher or lower, I’ll rip them to pieces, and then I’ll do the same to you."

Vox moans aloud, and Alastor rears back as he realises the threat was a bad idea. Vox is a glutton for punishment, and is, if anything, more likely to disobey when given the promise of pain. Fuck. Alastor straightens his back, careful not to give away that this actually matters to him.

"And even worse, any unauthorised touch instantly nullifies any obligations on my side! And I’m quite certain that you wouldn’t want our little session to end prematurely!" He brings a leg round to tap his hoof teasingly against Vox’s dick, hoping the extra distraction is enough for Vox not to notice his weakness. By the way he whines and swallows, nodding his head frantically, Alastor’s pretty sure it’s worked.

Vox gingerly begins letting cables from his back, spilling them over the floor. He brings them around Alastor’s legs, and lets them snake up the sides of the chair, wisely keeping them in Alastor’s sight at all times.

Alastor shivers slightly when the first cable wraps around his abdomen. The touch starts light, but as more pile on, it becomes tighter, necessary if they want any chance of actually pulling Alastor up. He struggles to breathe a little when the cables have fully encased his waist, but he soon works out a rhythm, a little slower and shallower than is typical.

"Have you ever considered wearing a corset?" Vox’s tone is teasing and simultaneously deeply serious, and Alastor shoots him an unimpressed look.

"Why, my dear fellow, I already have! A fair number of times, in fact!" Vox’s screen briefly turns to colourbars and a spark passes between his antennae. Alastor laughs at him, the binds loosening as Vox redirects his memory to bringing his screen back online. He continues speaking, despite his lack of mouth.

"Would- I could get Vel to make you one?"

Alastor actually does consider this offer; it would be nice to have free access to high quality clothes, and, as strong-willed as the youngest Vee seems to be, he’s sure he can provide enough notes for her to make something accurate. He’s not exactly getting paid for his work at the hotel, and hasn’t had the funds to visit the tailors for anything more than repairs and alterations in some time. On the other hand, he expects Vox would use his acceptance as permission to dress him up and leer at him for the next week, which he is considerably less enthusiastic about and would ruin the seasoning.

"I’ll think about it." He says, noncommittally, shrugging off the topic. "Now, if you’d please." He gestures with a nod at the cables around his waist. Vox nods, seemingly satisfied with the maybe, and begins lifting Alastor up.

The process is difficult. The first step is stopping his cunt clinging to that damned vein on the front of the knot, which they achieve by Vox pulling Alastor back with his cables, and Alastor spreading the front of his labia with his fingers at the same time. When it finally pops out, Alastor moans in relief and searing pain, the front of his cunt burning with the movement. Vox watches with wide eyes and an open mouth, but he obediently keeps his hands by his sides.

The next step is to pull the back of his hole from where it’s fixed firmly over the knot. This is made easier by the front of his hole no longer being stuck against it, but Alastor still keens when the most tortured part of his cunt is pulled wider and wider, scraping against the uneven texture. It takes a few tries, and when it finally pops out Alastor screeches, but at last, it’s done.

Alastor pants against his binds and Vox loosens them a little to let him breathe and relax his posture. He’s looking up at Alastor with a kind of reverence, his eyes trailing the tears that fall from his eyes. Despite his instincts, Alastor doesn’t look away, and finds the silence unexpectedly comfortable. Vox is clearly waiting for his cue for them to move on, but he doesn’t seem impatient, just content to sit as Alastor recovers himself.

"Alright." His voice comes out scratchy and wrecked. Vox nods slowly, and begins to pull Alastor up the cock.

Now off the knot, the constant scratch of the bulges and scales against Alastor’s hole return. When he reaches the first pair of scales, Alastor clenches, his body rebelling against the brutal pressure against his battered insides. Vox’s cables keep pulling, gripping him under the ribcage as they continue lifting, slow, but constant. When his cunt falters around the first scale, Alastor lets out a helpless noise of agony, his nerves screaming at the beating. Vox whimpers below him, but Alastor barely hears it as blood rushes in his ears.

The next scale is just as painful, and Alastor screams when he’s pulled too far backwards, the harsh edge of it digging into the back of his hole. Vox’s cables almost seem to act independently, suddenly wrenching him from it, resulting in more howls, more tears rolling down his face. They’re constant now, as soon as one has fallen, another takes its place. Alastor feels disgusting, his face coated in fluid, sniffling as his cunt spasms.

Vox’s cables still, and Alastor waits for the next drag up, surprised when they instead start dragging him back down. He almost wants to protest, he knows every scale taken is one more that has to be wrested from his clenching hole, but going up much further is useless at the moment. He needs to be stretched out, and the only way to do that is to keep him open, keep him wide. He sobs when the first scales pop back into him, when his cunt squeezes shut around them, and again when it’s forced wider, wider, until the final ones pop in. He’s still being pushed down, and he’s slightly worried Vox is going to try to make him take the knot right there, but the binds holding his limp body stop his descent, just as the front vein forces its way into his rim.

He’s held still for a second, until the slow drag up begins again. Vox leans him forward so there’s less pressure as the vein slips from his hole, and the motion causes the unyielding head of the cock to press deep into him, making him shudder and whine. Nevertheless, the vein emerges from his cunt, and Vox brings him up again.

They continue this for God knows how long, Alastor losing track of time as the drag grows faster and faster, until Vox is fucking him harshly on the cock. The pain is unbearable, but Alastor doesn’t have to bear it, doesn’t have to do anything but drop his head back and moan as he’s forced around the cock shoving its way into him. Vox takes out three or four scales each time now, if only for the added leverage it gives him to slam Alastor down further, faster. His hole stretches wider, wider, slipping a milimeter further down the knot with each thrust, and weeping for it back when it’s pulled off. The front vein, the scales, all of it catches every time. His walls are so abused and swollen that they can’t just flick over the intrusions and spring back into place, they can only be forced over them, his muscles unable to even contract any more as they’re beaten into submission. Alastor tries to tense them, just to see if he can, and sobs when nothing happens, the cock pushing its way deeper into him untiringly.

Alastor can’t do anything. He only exists at the point of his hole, can do nothing as his cunt is ravaged, fucked with no respite, no time for him to breathe. His moans grow in volume as every slam down its length mutilates him further, pulls him apart, until he thinks he might die here, impaled on Vox’s cock.

He’s rammed down one final time, slick streaming from his destroyed cunt, able to register nothing but complete and utter agony, and Alastor screams as he closes around the knot and comes.

…

When Alastor wakes up again, he’s in an empty bathtub. He hadn’t really looked at it when he was in the bathroom earlier but Vox was right, it is massive.

The door opens and Vox comes in, humming and holding a pile of cloth, which he deposits on the little shelf poking out of the far wall. He turns to leave again, then jumps when he sees Alastor is awake, before his expression morphs into a nervous smile.

"Hey, Al." He laughs over the vowel in hey, drawing it out unnecessarily. Alastor doesn’t reply. He’s not sure he can speak at the moment. His throat is bone dry.

"I, uh, I took the liberty of, um. Removing you and brought you in here." Alastor must tense, because Vox immediately moves his hands in front of his chest. "With my cables! Don’t worry, I didn’t- I didn’t touch you."

Alastor isn’t precisely sure why he believes Vox. He knows the man would do most anything to get his hands on him, has watched him beg for every second of contact, but he accepts the assurances regardless. He moves to bring his legs up to hide himself and winces at the pain at the junction of his thighs.

Alastor looks down at his hole, and it looks…ruined. The fur around his cunt is matted with lube, slick, and his own ejaculate. It’s starting to crust and turn white, and he worries a bit of it with his fingers, watching as it flakes off. He brings it up to his mouth to taste; it’s not that bad, somewhat salty, and he stops when he hears Vox groan. He’d almost forgotten he was there.

"Jesus Christ, Al, I am not going another round." Alastor almost wants to protest, but he looks up to Vox’s face and only sees humour. He’s joking, and Alastor give him a little huff for the effort. Vox’s face instantly brightens, and he looks away, flushing cyan. "I assume you’re gonna want to be alone for this, so I’m gonna go. Towel and clothes are on the shelf. Please let me know when you’re done, I need a shower." He gestures to his soaked crotch and laughs when Alastor makes a face of disgust. He opens the door, flicks the lock, then closes it, tugging at the handle from the other side so Alastor knows he can’t get in. Alastor’s sure he has a key, but it’s nice of him anyway.

He looks back down and continues inspecting himself. The lips of his cunt are bright red, he’s doesn’t think there’s any bleeding, but they’re bruised beyond recognition. He looks like he’s been flayed, the skin looking more like loose flaps than any recognisable organ. He can see inside himself, at least for a few inches, and he’s slightly worried by the fact that the end of the visible flesh is black and not red. It means he only can’t see further inside because it’s too dark, not because his hole actually closes. He tries to clench it, and his muscles spasm weakly.

He tries again, only succeeding in rubbing the sore flesh against itself, his insides burning. He moans. How is he so swollen and yet still so open? If the swelling went down, the blood flowing out of the tissues, how much more open would he be? Looking down at his cunt, he thinks he could probably fit the first dildo into the empty space without it ever touching his walls, maybe even the second if he stopped swelling.

He hisses as a small stream of slick runs out of him, trailing over the most abused portion of flesh at the back of his hole. The whole section is a deep crimson, scratched and tortured until it’s nothing but a little strip of agony. Alastor writhes as the liquid travels over it, bringing his claws down and scraping it out when he can’t stand it any longer, even as he knows what an unwise decision that is. It only makes the pain worse, which releases another wave of slick, and Alastor throws his hands up and just lies back, breathing slowly as he tries to calm himself. He’s already fallen for Vox’s tricks to get him horny once today, he’s not doing it again.

He takes off his shirt and begins running the bath, jolting when the water hits the base of his genitals. He usually prefers hot baths, he feels cleaner when his skin has been half-scolded, but he aims for lukewarm as he continues adjusting the taps. Boiling water in his cunt would be a level of pain even he is unequipped to deal with. God, he doesn’t even have the energy to heal this. He’s going to be sore for days. Is he going to be stretched this wide for a week? Is his hole even going to close? He winces as another translucent line of slick escapes into the water, and sighs when it disconnects from his cunt.

He uses the soaps and shampoos Vox talked about, brand new bottles lined up along the bath’s end. They smell of sandalwood and fire, and though it’s not what he would choose for himself (he does tend to opt for more floral scents while bathing), he appreciates the thought. The idea of Vox calling his assistant earlier in the day, demanding whatever woodland-scented bath products he can get his hands on makes him exhale through his nose, the only laugh his exhausted body can muster.

He gets out and rubs down the majority of his body with the towel. He carefully pats his hole dry, still wincing at the slight pressure. Vox has laid out clothes for him, but, rather bizarrely, the clothes are…his. Not exactly his (he’s fairly certain he would have noticed if Vox has been stealing his clothes), but the loose red silk pyjamas he wore decades ago, only a brand new pair. The details aren’t exactly the same, they’re missing the double cuff at the end of the trouser leg and the breast pocket is embroidered with a monogrammed "A" instead of a set of antlers, but they’re close enough that he feels a tinge of nostalgia.

The underwear Vox has left him is loose, soft bamboo fabric with no inner seams, and just slightly too big for him. He pulls them on and, though every touch to his cunt is painful, they’re a lot better than they could be. He pulls on the pyjamas, tosses his sweat-soaked shirt into the basket labelled "laundry", and gives his hair a final tousle with the towel before leaving the bathroom.

Vox is lazing on his bed, scrolling on his phone. His head swivels immediately when Alastor enters, and he looks him up and down in the new clothes he’d selected. He doesn’t seem as lustful as Alastor expected him to be, more lazily happy. Perhaps he’s simply wrung out.

He stands up from the bed, grabs his own sleepwear (a single pair of boxers), walks past Alastor, and enters the bathroom. When the door shuts, Alastor lets out a breath he doesn’t know he was holding and approaches the makeshift bed Vox had brought in for him to sleep in. It’s not nearly as high as Vox’s, but it’s still bulky, and he wonders how in the seven rings it was brought up in the elevator and set up without the noise startling him. He decides he doesn’t actually care, and lies down, pulling the covers up to his neck.

Vox reenters the room some fifteen minutes later, as Alastor is pretending to sleep. He keeps his breaths slow and steady, occasionally shifting slightly to sell the act, and it seems to work as Vox passes straight by him and flops into bed. There’s a moment of silence, then rustling as Vox presumably turns. Alastor hears a quiet whisper of Al? and completely ignores it. His eyes are closed but he feels Vox looking at him.

After a moment, the rustling sounds again, and Alastor hears a slight hum of electricity as Vox picks up his charging cable and plugs it into himself. He hears a neutral-sounding woman’s voice say three, two, one, power off, then the click of a television screen flicking to black.

He stands up and rises from his bed, walking to Vox’s side. He looks down at the man, screen propped up on two pillows and limbs strewn starfish. He has no magic left to call on, no strength left to use, but he thinks he could probably kill Vox right now if he wanted.

Instead, he goes back to bed.

Vox looks so sweet when he sleeps. It’s almost enough to make Alastor regret what he has to do in a few days.