Chapter Text
Alastor… wasn’t lying about the 72 hour straight part. It sounded so biologically implausible– even by demon standards– to Vox, that he thought it’d been an over exaggeration. That it had to have been an over exaggeration.
It’s not like he didn’t trust Alastor– or God forbid thought he was lying, he just didn’t think it could go on for that long! He assumed that maybe Alastor’s time was skewed when it came to his rut– or maybe he didn’t have sex for the full 72 hours, maybe less than 1/4th of his rut would be spent doing that.
Vox was wrong.
He was so, so fucking wrong– so much so that he couldn’t help but laugh at it in hindsight. Really, he should’ve believed Alastor on it. He’d been dealing with it for… god, half a century by now– Vox should’ve known better than to question Alastor on how his own body functioned and operated.
Sure, they’d slept throughout it– but it was always in small bursts, ones that would almost always end with Vox being woken up with Alastor humping him and whining like a madman (he was insistent he didn’t want to take advantage of Vox in his sleep, and said he tried his best to quell the urges while he slept–),
Up until Vox gave him the go ahead to just do it. Do whatever with his body– maybe that was a little too generous of Vox, given how utterly exhausted he was when he walked out of the whole ordeal– he slept for two and a half days straight, only broken up by quick water, food, and bathroom breaks– and feeding his pet dog-shark, Vark (who had been dutifully looked after by Rosie during the whole rut, honestly, Vox didn’t know what he’d do without her).
Vox knew he didn’t have it that bad, though. Once upon a time, Vox had assumed Alastor’s actual rut lasted 2 weeks, and no shorter. In reality, it only lasted in full for 3 days. The rest of the 11 days allocated to Alastor’s “rut breaks” was just padding. A little bit before to prepare (and to avoid snapping at everyone who looked his way), and a little more afterward to recuperate.
It was a good thing Vox called off the week, handing off most responsibilities to his assistant as he took his ‘vacation’. Papermint was a good kid– he was a relatively new hire, and had only been with Vox for a few years. He’d joined the staff roster shortly after he’d arrived to hell, and did a phenomenal fucking job– so Vox had no qualms about leaving him to his own devices for a little while.
But soon enough, that luxurious 7 day vacation he’d so graciously bestowed upon himself (at first, he thought it’d be too much– that he’d spend a few days just sitting around doing nothing. a massive miscalculation on his part, Vox will readily admit to), around half of it spent getting his brains fucked out of his head, and the other half spent recovering from the aforementioned having-his-brains-fucked-out-of-his-head.
When he came back to work the first day, it was about what he’d expected. He had to stay a little late; get through the block of meetings that had built up over his break, review some scripts, write some segments for Vox-2-Nite, so on and so forth. Normal business stuff.
And he thought it’d stay that way– it was absolutely infuriating how much had piled up during his time away, and while he’d expected it whole-heartedly, it still didn’t make it fun to do.
Though, a little hiccup came on the following Monday. It was a normal day, dealing with employees that wouldn’t do their jobs (until, of course, Vox talked some sense into them), meetings with Hellborns interested in funding Vox’s further ventures into the creation of Technology, and not just entertainment–
Until Papermint burst into his office, his glasses askew and looking like he was about to lose his breakfast at any second. Vox looked up from the script he’d been working on, and his brows furrowed. “Did I miss a meeting?” Vox stood, and grabbed the little to-do calendar he kept on his desk. Nothing was booked for a couple more hours– it’d been a surprisingly mundane and quiet day for Vox. “This doesn’t say I did…” He mumbled to himself.
He wasn’t questioning Papermint, not at all– there’d been times where Vox forgot to jot down a meeting, and Papermint got a face full of a stuck-up, agitated demon yelling at the poor guy. Though, he looked a little… worse for wear then he usually was in these kinds of situations.
“Uh- ha, no sir,” Papermint managed as he braced his hands on his knees, slumped forward, chest heaving. He’d definitely ran– the closest elevator was broken, so he either took the stairs or the elevator on the far side of the building. Either way, Vox understood why he’d be out of breath afterwards. “Hey, catch your breath, then you can tell me.”
Papermint looked up for a second, nodding before his head fell back down. After a minute, Papermint seemed to calm down just a bit. Enough for him to stand up properly and talk to Vox without looking like he was about to pass the fuck out.
“The- uhm, no sir. The Radio Demon wants to see you. He’s– he’s in the lobby right now.” Vox frowned– Alastor never visited him at work, even if it was a business related thing. Once every blue moon, Alastor would come into VoxTek’s main office– but that was only ever at Vox’s insistence. He set down his calendar and rounded his desk, trying to figure out why the hell Alastor would visit him now, and here of all places, too.
“Did he say why he wanted to see me?” Papermint shook his head, and Vox hummed in response. “...Alright. Make sure to take a break, however long you need. You looked like you’re about to implode.” Papermint laughed, and nodded “I’ll be sure to, sir.”
Vox nodded at him, then headed to the little digital clock he kept hung on the wall. It was plugged into the wall– allowing Vox to use his little tech-teleport gimmick with it. That wasn’t the only reason it was there, but that was why it wasn’t a battery operated or analog clock.
It was quick, taking no more than half a minute to travel from his office all the way down to the lobby. Perks of having a straight-forward wiring system in this building, something Vox had been very adamant on when it was being constructed and eventually added onto.
When he popped out in the lobby, sure enough, Alastor stood there in all his red-obsessed glory. He was situated near the receptionist’s desk, leaning over the granite-countertop as he tried to make ‘casual conversation’ with the receptionist, a rabbit-sinner who was currently cowering in the furthest possible corner behind her desk. When Vox walked closer, he realized Alastor was actually oh-so-casually talking about all the possible ways you could skin, prepare, and cook a rabbit– his sharp teeth on full display.
“Al!” He called out– he really didn’t want the receptionist quitting, she was a damn good one; actually did her job and didn’t sit behind the desk doing fuck-all like the last few sinners that’d held the position.
Alastor was quick to turn to Vox, his harassing of the poor receptionist long forgotten in favor of focusing entirely on Vox– his eyes held an unnerving amount of… something. It made Vox’s skin crawl, but he tried to ignore it. “There a reason behind this impromptu visit, or did you just want to give my staff heart attacks?”
He made his way to the desk, taking a moment to direct the receptionist to take a break as well. Who knows, maybe her and Papermint will trauma-bond over getting accosted by a cannibalistic Overlord fresh out of rut. When he focused back on Alastor, he caught the split-second remains of a snarl– directed where the poor receptionist had once been– but that quickly flipped to a face-splitting grin, reaching up to his eyes as well.
“Hm. I don’t know, can’t I just pay my companion a visit? Is that such a crime?” Vox laughed, rolling his eyes at Alastor’s words– he didn’t notice how… lovey-dovey Alastor was looking at him until it was his turn to reply, and his brain short circuited.
you’re making it up, block head. reading too far between the lines. stop it, dumbass he thought in his mind, clearing his throat and glancing away– the intensity of Alastor’s constant eye contact causing more of a strain than usual. It made him nervous to keep looking into Alastor’s eyes, more than usual.
Maybe because the last time he saw Alastor, he was literally drooling over Vox– begging and whining and pouting for ”just one more, please my dear? you’re so lovely when you finish. I wish to view it over and over again.”– and that was definitely a contributing factor,
But not even Vox could kid himself to believe that it was the only reason why he was a little anxious around Alastor then. But by God, could he shove it in a dark little corner in his brain and try not to think of it for the time being!
And that’s just what he did, as he cleared his throat for a second time and responded. He tried to look into Alastor’s eyes as he spoke– Alastor was a big fan of eye contact, Vox had learned. Maybe a little too much, but Vox wasn’t one to judge– when he was younger, he was the same way; it was so unnerving that he created an internal timer of sorts, how long to keep eye contact, when to look away, etc etc; just so he didn’t unsettle who he was talking to.
It was evident that Alastor never had that kind of a system, and if he had ever even thought of it, he clearly didn’t employ such a thing. Besides, he liked to be as unnerving as possible; he didn’t need to have a friendly, shiny persona like Vox did. He kept his audience by being as terrifying and unsettling as possible. The same cannot be said for Vox, however.
As soon as Vox and Alastor’s eyes met, Vox wanted to look away again. He persevered, refusing to back down– not because he was afraid of ‘showing weakness’, but because he didn’t want to add another slip-up to the pile of moments that Alastor will tease him for the rest of however long they stay close.
“You never visit me at work, though. Whenever you come in here, I basically have to drag you in.” Alastor rolled his eyes, before standing up from where he’d been leaning against the receptionist desk. His cane, which had been held in his left hand, vanished into a whirl of shadows.
Vox had no clue why Alastor did that, not until he strode forward and wrapped his arms around Vox’s waist, pulling him close– practically chest to chest. Vox made an effort to not let his screen go pink, but judging by Alastor’s smug grin– he’d failed at it, if only for a moment.
“Sometimes, change can be good. Isn’t that what you always say, dearest?” Alastor tilted his head– ears flopping over as well; something that had to have been on purpose. Vox had to admit it– for an insane, sadistic cannibal, Alastor was pretty cute sometimes (most of the time, Vox’s mind supplied. He tried to ignore that, but realized that his screen must’ve gone a little pinker at the thought. he was quick to smother the color as quick as he smothered the thought). “Well– Well yeah, that still doesn’t explain why you’re here, Al.”
Vox heard the clack of heels behind him– a worker passing from one side of the building to the next, no doubt; but Vox became increasingly aware that he was embracing (being embraced by? His arms were sort of just hovering around Alastor’s shoulders; not touching, not knowing what to do) Alastor in broad daylight, very much in public, and right in the lobby; where any old schmuck passing by outside could watch and laugh.
Alastor brought his head back up, and huffed, dramatized annoyance at Vox’s straight-to-the-point insistence. “You’re no fun.” Vox raised an eyebrow, waiting (im)patiently for Alastor to answer the damn question. He did this a lot, this hemming and hawing, with Vox. He seemed to find immense joy and entertainment in it, like a cat batting around a mouse for hours on end. Playing with its food (metaphorically in Alastor’s case. hopefully. Vox isn’t very keen on actually being eaten by Alastor in the literal sense).
“I wanted to see if you were doing alright, especially after our little…” Alastor paused, and Vox could’ve sworn he flushed– it was barely noticable and gone in a second, but Vox knew what he saw. “romp, together.” At that, Vox couldn’t hold back a quick laugh at the word choice and delivery. “I think we participated in a little more than a ’romp’, Al.”
“You say tomato, I say tomato.” And the slight tangent of Alastor’s funny word choice dropped from there, not worth pursuing. Besides, Vox had to get back to work– and had to make sure his star employees hadn’t keeled over dead in the staff room while he dealt with Alastor, who, oddly enough, still seemed a little affected by his rut.
Usually by now, a week or so afterward, Alastor would be completely cooled down. Under close inspection, Alastor still seemed a little agitated– a twitch of his ear there, his smile pulling tighter and tenser here; the constant glancing around, as if at any moment someone could come and steal Vox away.
“Right,” Vox said, and Alastor parroted back a “Right.” of his own. Always needing to have the last word, this man. Vox cautiously lowered his arms to his sides, and took Alastor’s own upper arms in a loose hold, silently urging Alastor to let go of where his arms were wrapping around Vox’s waist. “Look, Al. While I love this little visit, I have to get back to work–” A shriek of radio feedback, and Vox knew he’d fucked up.
But how? How the hell would he have upset Alastor? This was so… strange. Maybe the rut wasn’t completely out of his system because he’d had a partner during it? Maybe his involvement in Alastor’s mating cycle did more harm than good after all, despite how much Alastor had babbled about how much better his rut was with ’his mate’ mid-orgasm.
“Can’t you stay for a little longer? I’ve missed you.” It was an obvious ploy on Alastor’s part, how his voice tapered off, getting quieter at the end. His expression completely contradicted the way he spoke, grin sharp and demanding. Almost like he was just begging Vox to try and put up a fight.
Vox, ever the pushover (especially in regards to a certain radio-obsessed deer), was quick to relent; his only request was “Could we go, like— go to my office or something? It’s not exactly good for either of our reputations to be seen like this in the middle of my office’s lobby.
Alastor hummed, and quickly agreed. The hard part came when Vox had to get Alastor to move back from their semi-one-sided hug. Vox tried talking sense to Alastor, but Alastor only tightened his arms even further. Vox resorted to wrestling Alastor’s arms off of himself– it resulted in Alastor’s ears pinned back to his head, teeth bared and a low growl resonating deep in his throat– but it did the job.
The growling quickly came to a stop when Vox wrapped Alastor’s arm around his waist, telling Alastor “Sorry– We couldn’t exactly walk very well in that position.” And Alastor, predictably, raised an eyebrow. “I could just use my shadows, dearest. It’d be much faster.”
“I just ate my lunch.” Was all Vox had to say for a look of understanding to cross Alastor’s face– Vox was getting more… used to shadow-travel, yes, but that still didn’t stop the fact that Vox was more likely to get nauseous than not with Alastor’s means of transportation. “Walking it is, then.” Alastor said in a clipped tone– not happy about being moved from his previous position, but pacified by the substitution Vox gave him instead. At least until they got upstairs and away from prying eyes.
Alastor was practically yanking Vox along– despite Alastor very much not knowing the ways. He was rushing in the completely wrong direction, Vox having to redirect him more times then he could count– eventually, but not soon enough, they made it to Vox’s office.
Papermint had the foresight to lock his door– a good practice that already put the kid leagues above any other assistant he’s ever had, alive or dead, even. Especially in hell, but it presented a roadblock in this current moment.
You see, usually he just zapped right in through the conveniently placed digital clock inside– but he couldn’t very well take Alastor with him during that, and Alastor didn’t seem very keen on letting Vox go, even for a second, by the looks of it.
“Do you think you could unlock the door?” Vox really did expect Alastor to laugh right in his face when he said, unabashedly and relentlessly. Say something along the lines of ’what, do you not have keys?’ or ’must I do everything for you?’.
Alastor did nothing along those lines. He nodded, the only sound coming from him was the static that always seemed to surround him– Alastor summoned a tendril from the ground, sending it under the door like he’d done this sort of thing millions of times. Maybe he has, when he’s gotten so hammered he can’t stand up straight, much less shadow-travel coherently.
One time, he’d ended up on the roof of a car dealership and just… passed out there. He learned his lesson not to shadow-travel while plastered ever again.
The lock clicked, the tendril retracted and melted into the ground. Vox reached to push the door open– but Alastor stopped him. No clue why he did, it didn’t make much of a difference who’s hand just pressed every-so-slightly on the wooden door to make it creak open. But, hey, it looked like it meant a lot to Alastor (for some unforeseeable reason), so Vox wasn’t going to comment on it unless he had to.
Alastor was eerily quiet as he pulled Vox into the office. Not once did he make any move to change their position, his arm stayed wrapped around his waist. Even as he walked Vox further into the room, and Vox heard the lock click behind them again.
“...Al?” Vox questioned– it’s not like he didn’t trust Alastor, really, that wasn’t it at all. It was more like Vox was just plain confused. He never did like being left out of the loop, and Alastor staying oddly quiet set off alarm bells in his head, setting off some primal prey-drive he thought he’d shaken after his death and arrival to hell.
A few moments passed before Alastor finally decided to grace Vox with a response; now at the side of his desk, Alastor removed his arm from Vox’s waist in order to move it to his shoulders. He pulled him down– and planted a chaste kiss on his lips, something which caught him… extremely off guard, no way around it.
Before he could question Alastor– maybe he’d accidentally prolonged Alastor’s rut instead of actually helping him– the other Overlord simply removed his hands from Vox’s shoulder and urged him forward, directing him to “Sit in the chair, my dear. I’d like to try something.”
Instead of a coherent question that contained, you know, actual words, Vox was only made to make an odd ’guh’ sort of sound, as Alastor had apparently grown impatient and took it upon himself to force Vox into the chair.
“Al, are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Vox was worried, and not for himself. It was entirely focused on Alastor, who’d shuffled into the space between where Vox sat and his desk. Alastor leaned forward, hands coming up to cradle the side of Vox’s head like you’d hold the face of a lover. Vox was sure his screen had turned bright pink by that point– but it certainly only grew worse when Al left a quick peck on Vox’s lips again, before ducking his head down.
Vox laughed, the fur of Alastor’s ears brushing against his neck in a weird sort of way as he buried his head into the crook of Vox’s neck. It was oh-so-similar to what he’d done during his rut– whether Vox was on his back, stomach, or chest pressed down to the mattress and hips pulled up (presenting, Alastor had called it)– Alastor always managed to have his face shoved against Vox’s neck, or around his shoulder area.
He’d marked it, obviously. There were bruises and shallow nips and bites absolutely covering Vox’s neck and shoulder when their time came to an end. Vox’s enhanced healing had done away with most of the marks, but the bite mark on his hand remained, even if it was hardly noticable– if you looked hard enough, you could see what little of the indents Alastor’s teeth left on the flesh of his palm. The way his skin stretched taut over those places, how it appeared ever so slightly lighter.
It was a little sad, knowing it’d be gone soon. Though, while he’d never admit it, he’d sure as hell gotten the mileage out of the thing– nearly every night, save for when he was still sore and catching up on sleep he missed during Alastor’s rut, he’d had that hand down his pants. Late at night and alone in his bed, ashamed that he was thinking of his friend like this–
It was simply mechanical, just a necessary evil, the time he spent with Alastor during the rut. Alastor confided in him because he trusted him, saw him as one of his closest friends; not because he saw Vox in that sort of light regularly, surely.
“Right as rain, darling mate.” Alastor said, immediately taking to mouthing and nipping at where his neck met his shoulder, and Vox could hardly believe what he’d called him.
what did i do? he wondered, starting to really worry for Alastor.
“I thought you said your rut would be over by now? That-” Vox jolted, his hips bucking up subconsciously when Alastor latched onto a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. He swore he could feel the grin against his flesh– how smug it was. “That all of the side a-ff-e-f-ec-cts would be gone by now,” Vox was torn between pushing Alastor away and pulling him closer.
He didn’t know what was happening– he didn't know what the hell he’d done to Alastor by helping him through his rut, but it didn’t seem to spell anything but trouble for the two of them. Alastor snorted against Vox’s neck, obviously amused. “Yes, because they are, silly picture box.”
Vox was having a hard time believing him when he was necking Vox like it was his last night alive.
“No, they aren’t–” Maybe Vox should’ve taken into consideration that Alastor knew his body better than Vox ever could– but also, Vox witnessed just how uncharacteristically out of it Alastor can be during rut. If he was still under the effects of rut, then either his ego or something else would block him from admitting that fact, not even to himself– and definitely not to Vox.
Though, if Alastor had been in rut, then he would’ve growled. He would’ve let out a vicious snarl that sent a spark of terror and arousal down Vox’s spine at his arguing. Alastor didn’t growl, he simply pulled back from Vox’s neck and looked him dead in the eyes.
“If I was still in rut, I would’ve torn every single one of your employees apart for daring to even be near my mate. Evidently, since your little eel is still running around in one piece, I am not in rut.” This was– this whole thing was so confusing for Vox, he felt like he might short a circuit any second now.
Vox laughed, a nervous habit he’d had since he could remember. Alastor’s eyes narrowed, almost like he was challenging Vox to argue some more.
Vox had never been one to turn down a challenge, not ever, and certainly not now. Even in the face of Alastor who was acting strange (but not in rut, apparently. no idea how that worked, but okay!).
“That doesn’t mean you can’t still be affected by it– I mean, you kissed me.”
Alastor’s smile lowered– not completely gone, but definitely smaller. It made Vox’s heart drop to his stomach, and he didn’t even know why it did. He’d seen Alastor not smiling before– only once, when they were both so drunk they couldn’t quite remember their own names; but Vox remembered the shock he felt when saw Alastor’s smile drop as he passed out cold on his up-teenth round of Rye.
“And why wouldn’t I kiss you? Do you not like it?” Frantically, Vox waved his arms, not wanting Alastor to disappear through the shadows, sulking because he got the wrong idea. It was a very Alastor thing to do, and Vox knew that and he knew it well enough to know to avoid it at all costs. “No– no! I mean, I like it, it’s just… confusing.”
“Confusing?” Alastor repeated, and Vox parroted back (rather unhelpfully, but who cares at this point) “Confusing.” Alastor’s face was pinched, and he huffed out of his nose– Irritated by Vox’s denseness.
“What’s confusing about kissing your partner? Weren’t you alive when the terms backseat bingo and necking were popular? Surely you’re familiar with the concept of–”
The shock didn’t wear off so much as it was torn from him by how much of a dick Alastor was being. Vox had enough wits about him to cut Alastor off, jabbing the toe of his shoe lightly into Alastor’s shin. “Don’t patronize me. I know–”
Alastor had his hands on top of Vox’s knees, who isn’t entirely sure when that happened. Without another word, Alastor used his hands on Vox’s knees as leverage to pull them apart, spread them wide enough so he could slot his hips between them. To prevent Vox from closing them, of course.
Vox, ever his adorable, flustered mate– fumbled out what was maybe meant to be the English language, maybe even a coherent sentence– but failed miserably as he felt Alastor’s hardon press against his own crotch.
He felt himself getting wet.
He felt himself getting even wetter when, with a sly look on his face, Alastor dropped to his knees between Vox’s legs, face lining up with Vox’s navel. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that ’something’ Alastor mentioned wanting to try out really was.
“Al–” His name came out like more of a whimper, and Vox opted to cover his mouth instead of letting any more embarrassing noises or attempts at calling Alastor’s name slip. Alastor’s hands ran up Vox’s thighs, looking up at him with such loving that Vox felt like he may melt under it.
“Oh, don’t quiet your noises. I like hearing them.” Tender, that’s the only thing that could possibly describe Alastor’s tone in that moment. Vox couldn’t do anything but obey him and, even though hesitantly, removed his hand from his mouth.
He was rewarded with a smile that reached his eyes from Alastor, and a snap of his fingers– suddenly, Vox’s legs felt rather cold; except for where Alastor’s hands were, they were warm, but not unnaturally so. Not like how they’d been during his rut. They weren’t hot, not like he was running a fever; just warm. It was pleasant, if only the rest of his legs weren’t cold in turn.
Vox looked down, and he’d guessed right. Alastor had snapped his hand and vanished Vox’s pants to god-knows-where; along with his underwear, leaky cunt on full display. Alastor was eyeing him like a piece of meat, and one look at his teeth had Vox second-guessing this whole thing.
“Al, do you really think you should be– well, your teeth–” Vox cut himself off with a loud, startled moan. In a bid to either shut Vox up, quell his worries, or both; had pushed one of Vox’s legs to hand over the arm of his office chair, exposing his cunt just for Alastor to lick at his entrance, gathering the slick there.
“I’ll be careful, my dear. I promise I won’t cause you any bodily harm,” He leaned forward, placing a kiss on Vox’s clit– he was so horny he could hardly think anymore. Could hardly even register that Alastor was speaking in the first place. “Unless you want to, of course.” He winked, and before Vox could realize he’d been speaking–
Alastor dove forward, beginning to eat Vox out like a man starved.
He kept well to his promise, keeping his teeth at bay– not one nick, not even as he buried his face between Vox’s legs and started tongue-fucking the poor man until his legs were shaking and he was crying.
“Plea-e-ea-s-ase, Al–” Vox was on his third orgasm by that point, and Alastor showed no sign of stopping. His leg had fallen asleep, the one Alastor threw over the arm of the chair and kept there, a clawed hand splayed out on his thigh– firmly keeping it right where he wanted it.
The last few times Vox had cried out like that, Alastor hadn’t even noticed. If he had, he hadn’t cared, but Vox believes it to be the former. Though, the latter does have some merit– albeit a lot less than the option before it has, but it’s still some merit.
“Yes, dearest?” Alastor had pulled back just enough for his words not to be muffled beyond recognition, so they weren’t reduced to just tortuous vibrations that made Vox wail even louder. “Let– let m’help you,” Vox glanced down– there was a wet spot on Alastor’s pants, a rather… large one.
Maybe that strange, loud yelp he’d made a while back– one of those noises reduced to an aforementioned torturous vibration– signaled that he’d come in his pants– just from eating Vox out.
Vox felt the tell tale signs that he was nearing the edge again, and he swore that he’d probably crash if he had another– Alastor laughed, pulling back a little farther, just enough so Vox could see how his lips and chin absolutely glistened with his release. His legs began to twitch, and his hips tried to shy away from Alastor– overstimulated and puffy, sensitive beyond belief.
“No, my dear. This is for you– isn’t this what lovers do? Make sacrifices for each other?”
Vox’s brain seemed to shut off at that. He nodded, head fuzzy and vision blurred as Alastor returned to his meal, unapologetically sending Vox into a fourth, and a fifth orgasm quickly thereafter. To prove himself correct, he did crash, and when he came to, he was in Alastor’s apartment; in a bath, Alastor sitting on the ledge of the tub, a soapy washcloth held softly in his hand, washing Vox off.
“There you are, dearest. I was afraid I’d overdone it for a moment there.” Alastor said, the skin around his eyes had crinkled, and his smile reached his eyes but it wasn’t a terrifying show of teeth– it was slight, not much teeth showing. Vox’s head tilted to the side, and Alastor caught it before it could hit the porcelain below.
“What about… the, uhm–” Vox was having trouble finding the word, mind still sluggish, still trying to wake itself up. Alastor laughed, and made a guess on what Vox meant to say– replying with “I don’t think your employees will say a thing if you miss a few hours of work.”, and he’d guessed correctly.
“S’more than a few hours, was barely halfway through…” Vox mumbled, eyelids drooping. He felt so safe, so warm and cared for. It wouldn’t hurt to go back to sleep, would it? Alastor seemed to disagree, pushing Vox’s head up, waking him up a little more in the process.
“Don’t sleep, not yet. I need to consult you about something.” Vox knew damn well he wasn’t in much a headspace to be consulted about anything, much less by Alastor– but he accepted with a slurred ’mhm…’ and a barely-there nod, that could’ve easily been mistaken for him dozing off before waking himself.
Alastor looked on fondly, continuing to wash Vox off as he said “You should move in with me, I think. It’d be nice to be within arms length of each other when we’re home. Cooking together, sleeping in the same bed, wrapped around each other to keep warm. You know how awfully cold my apartment can get, always out of the blue as well.” Vox nodded. That did sound nice– not Alastor’s apartment getting cold, god no– but what he said before.
“That’d… be nice, I think.” Vox was half convinced this was a dream, one he’ll wake up from at any moment. Slumped over his desk, head resting on his folded arms like he was taking a nap at school. The feeling of Alastor’s claws skittering across the vents on the side of his head disagreed with that notion, but, again, Vox wasn’t very aware right now.
“So it’s decided?” Alastor asked, his tone sounding a little… malicious. Vox nodded regardless, and then fell asleep just as Alastor gave him the go ahead, saying he’d dry and dress him while he slept.
Only when Vox came to, it was still dark out– either very late at night or early in the morning– did he realize why Alastor had sounded so malicious. He knew Vox wasn’t in much of a mental state to agree to something as drastic as moving in with each other.
He didn’t really care, after he thought about it more. Alastor’s apartment was a hell of a lot nicer than his own– it was on Alastor’s own territory, and he practically had the whole building to himself.
Though, he’d have to negotiate with Alastor to let Vark come with him. No way in hell was he leaving Vark– he was practically a son to him! He couldn’t give him up, even if Alastor didn’t like dogs. But maybe it’d be different? Vark looks a lot more like a hammerhead shark than he does a dog. It’s just his behavior that’s the problem.
…eh, he’ll cross that bridge when it comes to it.