Archive of Our Own ^beta

Vox awoke to sweetness. Borderline sickly, the saccharine smell invaded his artificial senses, mixed with the subtle scent of something else that he couldn’t exactly put his finger on.

It was dark, still the middle of the night, and though Vox was tempted to just stay as he was and go back to sleep, curiosity got the better of him, and he hauled himself up into a sitting position.

His heart nearly stopped all over again when he saw a silhouette at the foot of his bed. Though he was no stranger to being awoken by Valentino in the night, this figure looked completely different, aside from the glowing red irises that were staring right at him.

Vox didn’t like to say that he was scared easily. No, he could withstand many things that others would be terrified of. Yet he found his hand shaking as he raised it to send a spark of electricity into one of the strips of LEDs that circled his bedroom.

The room was dimly lit with a dark, bluish light, which only made the shadows cast from his furniture appear longer and more intimidating. He regretted both his interior designing and lighting choices as he kicked his bedding away from him in case he needed to fight, before looking up at the figure at the foot of his bed.

Vox wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it surely wasn’t the Radio Demon.

Not only that, but Alastor looked a complete mess, chest heaving, hair ruffled, clothes creased, ears drooping, smile contorted into a strained grimace, a thin sheen of sweat across his flushed cheeks, and, best of all, the obvious strain in the crotch of his pants.

Vox was close to believing he was in a dream, resisting the urge to reach across and pinch his own arm just to check that this was reality. After all, it was a situation he had previously thought to be impossible, the kind of self-indulgent scene which played out in the depths of his mind when he was alone on an evening.

But it was all so vivid, every twitch of Alastor’s ears, every laboured breath, every detail that would be beyond even Vox’s imagination forcing him into the fact it was reality.

He simply sat amidst his loss for words for a moment, trying to both process what was happening and figure out the weird sense of familiarity he was becoming aware of, before it hit him. The undertones of the sugary smell, which he had simply brushed off earlier on, were the complete opposite of unknown to him. After all, he was exposed to it every time he saw Valentino.

All the pieces connected together at once. Alastor’s appearance, the fact he’d shown up in the middle of the night, the all-too-familiar smell of Valentino’s pheromones…

“What the fuck?” The words which he was intending to keep in the confines of his thoughts slipped out, shock loosening his tongue.

Alastor stumbled forwards, half climbing, half falling onto the foot of Vox’s bed, making direct eye contact as he crawled forwards. “You won’t say a word about this to a single soul,” he snarled, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. Despite this, his words were tinged with a hint of desperation, a neediness that Vox had never seen before. “But Vox, I need you to fuck me.”

Vox nearly bluescreened, his heart skipping a beat at the words that he never thought he would ever hear. It was a dream, it had to be. There was no way this was actually happening.

But no, Alastor kept crawling forwards, real as ever, not stopping or redirecting when he met with Vox’s body, moving on top of him, straddling his hips. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, the things you think, the things you do.”

If Vox’s mind wasn’t somewhere completely different, he would have been embarrassed at the idea of anyone knowing about what he thought or did, let alone the object of his fantasies. No matter how humiliated he would normally be, it was hard to think a single coherent thought when Alastor was sitting right on his dick.

“But really, I thought you were more eloquent than this, Vox.” Alastor said with mild distaste, splaying his hand out on Vox’s stomach, hiking his T-shirt up. “I’m the one that’s drugged, yet you’re the one that’s staring like a speechless idiot.”

Vox struggled with his words, his thoughts, vocal chords and speakers not lining up at all. Everything was too hot, fucking hell. He was going to melt if he didn’t do anything quickly, already severely struggling to function despite his cooling fans working at twice the speed as normal. Eventually, he managed to form a coherent, albeit short sentence. “What happened?”

Alastor’s ears shot down in annoyance, far more reactive than how they were on a daily basis. “Angel Dust tripped over while holding a bottle of.. something. It spilled all over me, and I think you can guess what happened as a result.”

Vox had a very clear idea. The image bloomed in his mind, of Alastor alone in his room, feelings almost completely new to him tearing away at his dignity, cock aching, desperate to do anything to relieve the tension… And for some reason, he had come to Vox as the solution.

He had come to Vox, his public enemy, the one he had rejected and completely abandoned for seven years, one of the few who could say that they had once been his friend. He had come to Vox, who had been pining after him since the day they met, whose feelings of humiliation and regret for being so stupid that he had fallen for Alastor had eventually morphed into resentment.

Years of unrequited feelings all built up to this one moment, where he was a quick solution to an annoying problem. When the situation was dealt with, he would be discarded again.

Vox hated Alastor, he fucking hated him. He hurt him, he broke his heart beyond any repair, he left him when he needed him most. He ruined him.

Yet Vox leaned forwards and grabbed onto the collar of Alastor’s shirt, pulling him down and crushing their lips together.

Alastor let out a muffled noise of surprise that sounded tantalisingly like a squeak, though quickly managed to pull himself together, his claws puncturing the surface of the back of Vox’s neck in his eagerness to reciprocate.

There was very little method to Alastor’s movements, though his sheer fervour made up for his evident inexperience. He was all tongue and teeth, messy and haphazard, less kissing and more ravaging Vox’s screen. But God, it drove Vox insane in all the best ways.

Alastor was shifting around, unintentionally making Vox’s stomach twist, a moan threatening to tear its way up his throat from the way every single tiny movement gave his aching cock much-needed friction. It was hard to believe that less than ten minutes ago he’d been fast asleep; it felt like he had been teased for hours.

Restless, Alastor kept moving, making it evident by his lack of regularity that he was trying to achieve something. He angled his hips downwards, and it suddenly became clear what he had been trying to do, his breath noticeably hitching as the hardness confined in his pants ground right against Vox’s.

“Fuck!” Vox gasped, involuntarily jutting his hips up to chase the touch. His hands quickly moved downwards, one holding onto Alastor’s waist, the other resting on the curve of his ass. He had fantasised about this kind of thing on more occasions than he could even count, and Alastor wasn’t even fighting against it, too distracted to even care about the hands on him.

It was easy to get lost in it, the waves of heat that came from each roll of Alastor’s hips. Vox couldn’t help but wish there were less layers between them, but seeing Alastor’s appearance made up for it. His bow tie was hanging loose around his now-unbuttoned collar, his ears were flattened straight down, eyes shut tightly and teeth gritted, and even his breathing seemed strained.

“You’re.. allowed to make noise, you know,” said Vox breathily, lightly squeezing Alastor’s ass. “I want to hear it.”

Alastor squeaked—yes, it was definitely a squeak this time—at the touch, but quickly caught himself, masking whatever he was feeling with a snarl. “..Why?”

“Because it’s hot.” Vox spoke without any hesitation, saying nothing but the truth. “It turns me on.”

Alastor stared down at Vox, his expression a strange mixture of confusion and arousal, like he couldn’t figure out why hearing someone moan would be attractive. God, Vox didn’t understand him at all.

After a short silence, Alastor lost whatever internal battle he was having, and stabbed a claw into the side of Vox’s boxers, slicing through the fabric and fully tearing them off. “Take your shirt off.”

Caught off guard by the sudden advances, Vox fumbled for a moment, before doing as Alastor said. He threw his T-shirt aside, now completely naked, but hardly caring. It was still hard to believe this was truly happening.

Vox nearly came on the spot when he looked back up and saw Alastor in a similar state of undress. His shirt still remained on, only half unbuttoned, yet Vox found himself not caring too much. It was the most of Alastor’s bare skin he had seen in his life; and he was in no position to be complaining.

“Holy shit.” Eyes travelling down Alastor’s body, he froze when he saw something. A flash of red and white that had flicked between Alastor’s legs for just a split second, yet long enough for him to immediately recognise what it was. “You have a tail.”

Vox didn’t think it was possible for him to be any more aroused than he already was, but apparently that wasn’t the case. He couldn’t help but imagine Alastor on his hands and knees, his tail flicked upwards, twitching with every thrust…–

“What an astute observation.” Alastor said dryly, interrupting Vox’s fantasies.

“Turn around, I need to see this,” pleaded Vox, unable to hide his grin as he moved to sit at a better angle.

Alastor quickly stopped him, shoving him down onto the bed with a single hand on his chest. “That won’t be happening.”

“But..” Vox trailed off as Alastor moved to once again straddle his hips, any words dying at his tongue at the implications. Alastor didn’t stop there, though, taking hold of Vox’s dick and starting to lower himself down. It took Vox a second to realise what he was doing, but when he did, he immediately panicked, freezing up. “Wait, no, wait, you–”

Vox cut himself off with a humiliatingly loud moan as Alastor sank down onto his cock. Thankfully, he wasn’t alone in his reaction; Alastor clamped his hand over his mouth, eyes going wide as he bottomed out.

He didn’t move straight away, frozen like a deer in headlights, taking long, deep breaths and staring at nothing in particular. His cock was hard and steadily leaking, dripping precome down onto Vox’s stomach.

It was a sight from Vox’s wildest wet dreams.

It took everything in Vox to not rut up into the heat, to turn the tables, flip Alastor over, and fuck him properly. And he would have given into the temptation, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew that he wasn’t the one truly in charge here. The hand on his chest still holding him down was reminder of that.

“Fuck, you’re..” Vox searched his mind to try and find the right word. It didn’t make sense, the way Alastor had slid straight down onto his cock like he’d been fully prepared, yet he hadn’t seen him put so much as a single finger in it. Not to mention they hadn’t even touched lube. “You’re… wet?”

Alastor seemed to have composed himself enough to speak, yet couldn’t directly meet Vox’s eye, his face darkly flushed. “You were hardly my first option. I tried.. other ways of solving my issue.”

Oh, fuck. Though it hadn’t been explicitly said, Vox knew for certain that Alastor meant he had fingered himself. And God, he could imagine it so vividly in his mind that it was almost like a second reality: Alastor face-down on his bed, fingers stuffed into his ass, muffling his desperate moans into his pillow… .

“As for the… lubricant,” Alastor continued, his tone casual, yet the heat on his cheeks giving away his true feelings. He hesitated, but kept going. “My body seemed to produce it itself.”

No way. No fucking way. That knowledge only turned Vox on more; Alastor was wet, soaking wet, only because of his own arousal.

“Please, fucking shit, please move. I need this.” The words escaped Vox before he even processed what he was saying, fans kicking up a notch to counter the heat that came with the embarrassment from realising that he was begging.

But humiliation aside, it seemed to do the trick, and Alastor leaned forwards, bracing his hands against Vox’s chest to slowly lift himself up, just a little. Vox automatically brought his own hands up to rest on Alastor’s hips, claws pricking the delicate skin when he dropped back down onto his cock.

The noise Alastor made at that was unholy, not managing to stifle himself in time, letting a torn whine unintentionally slip out. And fuck, Vox could no longer hold back, thrusting his hips up, burying his cock somehow deeper inside. Caught off guard, Alastor cried out again, and though the hint of a glare quickly made its way onto his already wrecked expression, he didn’t stop, repeating his previous motion.

“Fuck, Al, you’re so good, you..” Vox groaned, his head falling back on the sheets. He wasn’t sure whether it was intentional or not, but Alastor tightened around him in the perfect way with every rise and fall of his hips, and Vox loved it, fuck, he loved it. He would die all over again a million times if it only meant he would be able to relive this, to have Alastor come back another night.

Maybe he would come again when he wasn’t drugged up. It would be out of completely free will, instead of driven by artificial desires, and would be something he wanted to do, instead of being seen as a means to an end.

“..Not much of a talker, are you?” he panted, raising his head with a semi-weak grin. Though, Alastor had been far from silent; the hand that was desperately covering his mouth wasn’t doing much to stifle the whines and moans that came out every time he dropped back down onto Vox’s cock.

“Shut up.” Alastor growled, raking his claws down Vox’s chest, scratching thin lines of red into his skin. And shit, if that wasn’t one of the hottest things Vox had ever felt.

Alastor was slowly speeding up, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the room. Vox’s hands were now gripping at the sheets, nearly tearing straight through them in an attempt to at least somewhat keep his composure.

It was embarrassing, really. Alastor was the one drugged, Alastor was the one with a cock inside him, Alastor was the one who had the right to be ruined. But there Vox was, biting back his moans and trying to hold off the tension quickly tightening in his stomach, like some virgin who’d never been touched before.

Completely losing the ability to hold himself back, Vox found himself thrusting up into Alastor, meeting him halfway, desperation tearing away at any self-respect he had. Surprisingly, Alastor didn’t stop him, his eyes widening a little in the slight change, his ability to hold back—or at least muffle—his moans failing.

“Vox,” he gasped out, movements faltering, and that single syllable was one of the sweetest sounds Vox had ever heard.

Alastor quickly lost his rhythm, movements turning erratic, clearly only caring about one thing; he barely faltered, despite his legs shaking more with exertion every passing second. His mouth was slightly open, still somehow smiling, yet it looked weaker than it ever had before at this point.

With no further warning, Alastor’s voice cracked, static distorting it almost beyond recognition as he came untouched, tightening around Vox, clawing deep gashes into his chest.

The sudden overwhelming rush of sensations caused the tension that had been building to finally snap, everything crashing down on Vox too. He gripped onto his sheets, making some humiliating choked noise that was a mixture of a moan and a sob, hips helplessly stuttering up into Alastor.

He went limp, panting, head falling back onto his pillows as the intensity subsided into a low buzz of pleasure from the aftershocks. Alastor had gone still too, sounding similarly out of breath.

Vox wasn’t sure what to say. What did you say, after this sort of thing? He hadn’t even seen Alastor in person prior to this event in over seven years, not to mention the fact they were both public and personal enemies to one another. And they had just fucked.

He felt still-trembling hands on his waist, pulling lightly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Taking the hint, Vox hauled himself up so that he was sitting upright, with Alastor still seated in his lap.

Vox wanted to get a good look at Alastor’s face, to see his completely fucked-out and ruined expression, but the second he was upright, Alastor had buried his face in the crook of his neck, completely obscuring it from sight.

And then he moved.

As subtle as it was, it was impossible for Vox to not feel the roll of Alastor’s hips, the slow grind against him again. It took everything in Vox to not cry out from the overstimulation. “Oh, fuck, wait, that’s–”

He bit down on his lip as hard as he could, ignoring the metallic liquid that quickly flooded his mouth. It felt so good, too good, it hurt.

Alastor ignored what he said and adjusted his angle a little, while scraping his teeth over Vox’s collarbone. Vox dug his claws into Alastor’s sides, desperately gasping out. “Shit, too much, too much!”

“Useless..” Alastor muttered under his breath, almost inaudibly. Still, he didn’t ignore Vox this time, and stopped moving. “I’m not done yet.”

“Just.. get off, one second,” panted Vox, and though Alastor made a noise of annoyance, he reluctantly obliged. Now without the hindrance of being inside of Alastor, Vox leant across the bed to pull open one of his bedside drawers. He grabbed one of the many small glass bottles that was inside and hurriedly unscrewed the lid, before chugging the fuchsia liquid inside. Despite the liquid itself being cold, it had an almost immediate effect, everything seeming to heat up a little.

Vox returned to the bed to find Alastor looking at him inquisitively, not saying a word, but evidently wanting answers.

“Val’s normal pheromones don’t work on me, so he makes sure I always have some of this in here,” Vox explained with a small sigh, “I’m guessing it’s the same—or at least similar—stuff that got you in this state.”

There was a short pause. “...Does this mean you can finally get it up again?”

It took everything in Vox to not strangle Alastor. He hated him. “Come on, I came literally less than five minutes ago!” He paused for a moment. “But.. yeah, pretty much.”

Alastor’s grin widened a little. He was, of course, still hard, due to the amount of the drug he had apparently been exposed to, and looked like he was nearing the end of his patience. “Good.”

Vox was about to motion for Alastor to climb onto his lap again, but changed his mind last second, having a different idea. He wasn’t sure how enthusiastic Alastor would be about it, but it was worth a try. “Turn around, on your hands and knees.”

“And why would I do that?” Of course, Alastor was being difficult, tilting his head to the side in mock-innocence.

“Because to be quite frank, you look like you’ll either die or cry if you don’t have a cock inside of you within the next minute.”

Alastor fell silent at that, hesitating for a moment, before doing as Vox had said. Once he was in position, he looked back, giving Vox a look that read ‘Happy now?’

Oh, and Vox was happy. He lightly trailed a claw up Alastor’s thigh, before grabbing onto his ass cheek and pulling it harshly, claws digging ever-so-slightly into the flesh, putting his hole out on display for him to see. If Vox had any doubts about what Alastor had said about the drug causing him to self-lubricate, they had vanished now; he wasn’t just wet, but was dripping, his inner thighs slick.

Without a second thought, Vox leaned in.

“What are you–?” started Alastor, sounding mildly irritated, but whatever he was going to say was quickly cut off with a gasp as Vox licked over his entrance.

He had never done anything exactly like this before. He’d done similar, such as sucking dick or eating pussy, but had never put his mouth over that particular body part before, even with Valentino. Yet he lapped over the wetness like he hadn’t eaten in days.

Alastor’s reaction was extremely mixed, sounding like he didn’t know what to think of it at all, yet was stifling breathy moans into his hand. He didn’t tell Vox to stop, nor did he try to push him away in any way, so he took that as an invitation to continue.

Testing the waters, he dipped his tongue inside. Alastor made a sound akin to a whimper, arms giving out so that his face was planted into the bed, yet his hips were still raised, held tightly in place by Vox.

Vox had no idea he would enjoy this as much as he was, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The taste was strangely sweet, albeit a little artificial, similar to the smell that still lingered in the air. That was one slightly confusing difference he noticed between his own liquidation of Valentino’s pheromones and whatever had been spilled over Alastor: he was no stranger to drugging himself up on the aphrodisiac, yet the sugary scent was completely new to him.

He decided to just not think about it, slipping his tongue in deeper, earning a choked moan from Alastor when he curled it in a specific way. Wanting to hear more of those sounds, he repeated his actions, fucking into him with his tongue, hitting the same place inside every time.

Alastor’s reactions were outright sinful, his attempts to muffle himself into a pillow failing miserably. Each time Vox’s tongue thrusted into him, he’d let out another desperate cry, the radio filter on his voice growing stronger every second.

Vox’s jaw was aching, but he didn’t stop. How could he, when Alastor was making sounds that made him doubt if he would ever be able to fuck anyone else again now he had this to compare it to?

“Gonna..” gasped Alastor, voice almost unintelligible through the static. He didn’t manage to finish his sentence, interrupting himself with a distorted screech.

Vox didn’t stop, continuing to fuck his tongue into Alastor until his shuddering finally slowed. And even then, when he pulled away, Alastor gave a ruined whine of protest.

As much as Vox would have loved to keep going as it was, to be able to listen to each and every noise Alastor made, to permanently engrave them in his mind with no other distractions, his own erection was painfully hard to ignore.

And with Alastor laying there, so pliant and ready for him, he would be insane to not take up the opportunity to fuck him.

Alastor himself was slumped fully on the bed, legs unable to hold himself up any longer, yet he was still grinding into the mattress, breathing in short, desperate breaths. “Can you hurry up?” he snarled, looking back to shoot a glare at Vox.

“Just admiring the view.” Even in this situation, Vox couldn’t help but tease Alastor a little; it was probably the only opportunity he would ever have to be able to do so without major consequences.

Though, he had a feeling that if he kept at it, Alastor would start getting violent, so finally gave him what he wanted, sliding inside him in one slick thrust.

Vox would never be able to get over the way Alastor yelped, quickly slamming his face back into the pillow the second the sound escaped. “..Fuck..”

Gripping onto Alastor’s waist, he pulled out halfway, then slammed back in. Alastor’s entire body jolted as he uncontrollably whined into the pillow.

Wanting to hear more of those sinful sounds, Vox immediately set a relentless pace, not allowing Alastor any more time to adjust to the feeling. He fucked him into the sheets, eliciting broken moans and whimpers, muffled by the pillow.

Vox quickly got tired of that. He grabbed onto Alastor’s hair, roughly pulling, forcing his head up. Alastor let out a ragged, staticky shout, voice thick with static.

“Let– Gh, fuck~!” He broke off into unintelligible nonsense, moaning wrecked expletives so obscene that Vox had been unaware he was even physically able to say them.

Vox himself could barely think straight, his thoughts slipping out with no filter. All of his feelings towards Alastor, the complicated blend of hatred and lust, years of pining and rejection, betrayal that still hurt every time he thought about it, despite how mixed they all were, all boiled down to anger.

He slammed Alastor’s head back into the pillow, turning it to the side so that he couldn’t muffle his voice, still holding tight onto his hair. “I.. fuck, Alastor, I hate you, I fucking hate you.” He groaned, biting down on the back of Alastor’s neck, tearing a cry from the other.

“I wanna fuck you like this every day,” continued Vox, moving to twist his hand into the fur of Alastor's tail. And fuck, it was just as soft as it looked, frantically twitching in his hand to try and escape. “I want to ruin you, to.. to remind you of who’s really in charge of everything.”

Alastor was too far gone to reply, helplessly biting down onto his lip in a failed attempt to shut himself up; even with his teeth breaking skin and drawing blood, it did little to stifle the wrecked whimpers that came with each thrust.

“Fuck, you love this, don’t you?” Vox asked, shakily laughing, “You’re gonna come crawling back to me later, aren't you? You’re only gonna be able to think about me.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He knew that it was just fantasy, that the second Alastor had gotten the drug out of his system, he would turn away and never come back. He would only think of this interaction with hatred, regretting his actions, despising Vox for letting him go that far.

Still, it was nice to pretend.

Vox pulled sharply on the tail in his hand, before he realised with a start that Alastor was crying. Hot tears were spilling over his flushed cheeks, dampening the pillow below, and no matter how furious Alastor looked about it, they didn’t stop.

Vox was thrilled. He didn’t think he could be any more turned on, but seeing Alastor quite literally fucked to tears brought his arousal to a whole other level. “Yeah, cry for me, Al. Show me how pathetic you truly are.”

Alastor tried to glare at Vox, but it didn’t exactly hold much power when he was crying and moaning, blood dribbling from his mouth from biting his own lip, eyes almost rolling back every time Vox fucked into him. Vox now had so much power in this situation, he couldn’t ignore the idea that came to him.

So, he stopped.

Alastor immediately panicked, ears shooting up in immediate protest from the sudden loss of friction. He made a sound that may well have been intended to be words, but was only perceived as a distressed whine.

“What’s wrong, Al?” Vox asked mockingly, not even trying to hide his grin. Fucking hell, Alastor was hot when he was so helpless. “Did you want me to keep going?”

Alastor seemed almost disoriented, barely processing what Vox was saying, tears building up in his eyes again. He furiously blinked them away, digging his claws into his palms, before staring at Vox with such a look of pure hatred that it would be ingrained in his memory forever. They were at a standstill, Vox not moving nor saying anything, and Alastor too stubborn to answer the question.

While still not saying a word, Vox lightly ran a claw over the surface of one of Alastor’s antlers. Alastor shivered, finally breaking the eye contact, twitching his head away from the touch. Then, as reluctantly as physically possible, he nodded.

Vox’s grin only grew wider. “Then beg.”

Anger flared up in Alastor’s eyes, the request somehow drawing out such strong emotion that it gave him the ability to form coherent sentences again. “I’m not going to fucking beg–!” He abruptly slapped a hand over his mouth as Vox rolled his hips again.

Vox once again quickly fell still, wanting to do nothing more than remind Alastor of how good it could feel. “Well, I have all night.” He leaned close to Alastor’s ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Do you?”

Alastor’s ear twitched, and he seemed to contemplate his entire life choices that led up to this moment. It felt like years had passed until he eventually spoke, pointedly looking away from Vox, ears lowered in annoyance. “..Please?”

“Please what? What do you want me to do?” Vox teased, taking immense pleasure in taunting Alastor, who looked more irritated every second.

Attempting to show attitude, Alastor grabbed onto Vox’s arm, digging his claws into his wrist, yet it somehow made him look all the more pathetic. “Please… fuck me.”

That was enough for Vox. He knew he could have drawn it out for longer, made Alastor say even filthier things, but even he was starting to get impatient. Letting go of all restraint, he recklessly fucked into Alastor, one hand gripping onto his hip, the other taking rough hold of an antler.

Alastor screamed, tensing up, his antlers contorting under Vox’s hand, branching out like they did whenever he went into his full demon form, something he had only seen on a few occasions. And somehow, even when Alastor was almost sobbing, shuddering through his orgasm, Vox felt scared of him.

Those teeth—since when did he have so many of them?—could easily tear him apart, could bite through his flesh like butter. His antlers could stab through his screen, shattering him beyond repair. His claws could slice him into shreds, taking months to heal and leaving scars that would remain for the rest of time.

Even without any physical damage, Alastor could destroy him. And he would.

Because for the rest of his afterlife, Vox would forever be chasing feelings that will never be returned.

With a strangled sob, Vox’s own orgasm hit him, overwhelming shockwaves blanking out his mind. He stuttered into Alastor, less thrusting and more shaking, before finally drawing to a stop as the heat subsided.

But fuck, he was still hard. He gave an experimental thrust again, biting down on his lip at how sensitive he was, starting to regret how much of the aphrodisiac he had drank earlier on.

Despite his blurred thoughts, he quickly noticed the way Alastor was barely reacting. He twitched a little whenever Vox moved, and he was at least breathing, but that was the extent of it.

“Fuck.” Vox groaned, pulling out when he put two and two together and realised that Alastor had passed out.

He hated him. He hated him so fucking much.

After all, hatred was a much easier feeling to accept than the other option.