-Warning for toxic bullshit-
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Okay.. Now you've been warned~
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"Greetings and salutations from the radio demon! Ladies and demons, hold onto your ears and the squeamish beware! Tonight we have TERROR and thrills for your pleasure and delight."
That static filter was something to be feared around the Pentagram. These little sinners with hatchets and big ideas hadn't expected to find the radio demon here of all places—with the TV station looming overhead close enough to intimidate with it's blinking audacity. Yet here he was, and it was time for a broadcast. He struck a cutting figure there as his antlers extended and red dial eyes glowed ethereal in the harsh night. The next hour was nothing short of a massacre. Bodies were discarded all over the ground, bitten into savagely and picked apart for their best pieces. Limbs were strewn, bloody trails following their wake like red strings of fate connecting them to eternal death beyond even Hell itself. All the while, a cheerful old ragtime was emitting from the old microphone stand being held elegantly in Alastor's hand. The sheer and utter delight on his face could be seen by no one—but it bled through the air waves via his voice.
"Tonight's performance was made possible by listeners like you... I'll return to you next week my dears, so keep a watchful eye as the hunt begins anew. Until then... stay tuned~"
The broadcast cut off there, with the haunting low laugh that had as many demons writhing in excitement and fear besides. The shadow behind him was already gathering up the souls of the damned before they could sink back into the molten rock. Slurping them right into it's mouth like the savage pet that it is. It's grin gleamed wicked in the firelight, retiring in pure contentment as it stepped into place at his feet once more. Alastor himself was completely out of sorts, the high of the show trilling up his spine more effectively than any leisure-time drug ever possibly could. His body was covered in gore and blood, sopping down his hair and into his red attire. The smell of iron was immense in the air, and the demon hummed in satisfaction as his stomach was satiated. It wouldn't last long. It never did. But post feeding time, the bliss was at it's peak.
The electric district was nothing short of a headache. It was a well-known fact that there were television screens located all over Hell—but here they were an entity of burning neon light. Shops, entertainment districts (a.k.a: all of them) and various corners of every street were well equipped with screens of every size. There was also—we mustn't forget—the enormous HD screen at the epicenter of the television station, displayed over a glowing sign that screamed for attention with it's haughty brightness. The digital age had hit Hell at the same rate it had the world up top, but here—it was far more obnoxious than ever. Alastor often walked this way en route to the Happy Hotel from his own radio tower. And at least twice a week, he could almost guarantee that he'd be hearing the digital cackle of his least favorite nemesis as he walked by the sheer wall of screens outside the electronic mall.
This is the first time he's ever held a broadcast in this specific center though. Quite by accident, he'd gotten carried away.
Alastor skips along the sidewalk merrily as he takes in the sights. The building right beside him is almost entirely comprised of digital faces, all playing various adds for goods and services around the electric district. What he didn't expect was for the screens to all come on at once and start blaring NOISES as soon as he came around the corner. It was a song, he supposed, but how could you really call this a song? It was computer generated and unabashedly unable to copy any real instrument with its sound. Its like Vox himself, flashy and loud but with no identifiable rhythm. Like machines and buttons going off, like sirens flaring into the night, like the shrill cries of the damned being turned into sparking wires! It's so loud right in his face that he startles like a frightened cat and flinches where he stands. His delicate deer ears were flared back with far more than just irritation—he's sure he loses his hearing for a second. His ears ring with a numb buzz and muffles out the world around him. He turns to face the screens, and there to greet him is the digitized mug Vox made for himself. There is a manic smile spanning the entire bottom half of his face. It's moving in time to the music too, mouthing the screeching words in Vox's usual speech.
Alastor decides that violent action is extremely necessary.
He snaps his fingers to unleash black coils from the gaping maw beneath the ground. He takes pleasure in watching the spikes shoot into the screens and crack Vox's face to shreds of colorful thin glass over the sidewalk. It's not enough though—no... the noise is still going and his ears feel bloody with mistreatment. In pure rage, he clenches his fist. His own claws spike into his skin straight through the dark material of his gloves. The blood drips down between his fingers and gets spotty over the sidewalk. But the injury is worth the price as he watches an explosion of black and red annihilate the screens down to the last ash. Glass shreds rain in the air, tiny triangles cracked to sharp jagged angles. He ignores how it falls into his hair and shoulders, effectively slicing tiny cuts into his skin beneath the guise of red.
He's breathing heavy when he's finished, looking pale and spent with momentary exhaustion and the lingering buzz of a murder high. But the noise has stopped, and that brings a more peaceful smile to his face. The silence is never meant to last, however, because soon there's a sparking effect riding down the landline. As soon as it pops into the pillar beside him, it transforms into the TV demon himself with a scowl fixed onto his fake face. As peaceful as Alastor was feeling, the other entertainer was the perfect opposite.
"Will you SX—SZ—STOP doing that!? All the repair work you're making me—" That familiar voice was glitching with imprecision off to his right had his ears were already twitching back in annoyance. He wasn't in his right mind yet, but he'd be damned a second time before he allowed Vox to get an edge on him. Spinning on his heel, he schooled his grin wide through the blood and twirled his microphone with the flair of a showman. As expected, the TV demon was staring at him from a safe distance away from the corpse yard of glass, HD screen glowing a dimmed blue with amusement.
"If you'd quit putting your face there, maybe I wouldn't have the urge to break them!" Alastor interrupts without missing a beat. The familiar song and dance of a good rivalry seems to school a smirk back onto the TV's face.
"You're just lucky I don't try the same thing to your place, Bambi," Vox purrs, "You and I could have some real fun that way."
"Vox, my electronic fellow—so sorry, but you've just missed all the fun."
"Heh, I know. I listened to your show. Gotta say... it's a little stale when you can't see the action."
"Thank you for your expertise on the matter... But what's a good performance without a little misdirection? No sight required but imagination!"
"Ohh~ But Al... to see you in action, horny on murder of all things. Now THAT'S ez—ex—entertainment."
"Excuse you?" Alastor quirked an offended brow at the beast's choice of wording. There was a terribly smug expression on the digital screen. He had his arms behind his back now, striding closer to the stag as his eyes half-lidded in their pixel space.
"Don't play coy, Bambi. Look at you... Breathing heavy... soaking wet... satisfied glow... This has gotta be the way you look right after you've been fx—fz—fucked into oblivion."
The screen was displaying an 18+ logo on it's surface now, and Alastor turned his own gaze away from it in utter disgust to say, "Vox if you're going to spout obscenities at me like that insufferable bug friend of yours, I really must be on my way now."
"Oh, no you don't," his path was blocked as Vox side stepped in front of him, "Ya see, I came out here for a reason. Did you notice where we are right now?" His tone was cocky, eyes just barely flickering to eye the ominous tower not so far away on the horizon line. The TV station, a network of all Hell's options as far as visual media was concerned. The old time radio had knowingly stepped into the devil's playground, having gotten carried away with his hunt. He doubted Vox would retaliate, even so.
"Oh?" he mused, barely shooting a halfhearted glance at the behemoth of a media tower, "No need to muscle me out of your turf, Vox. I'm capable of beating tracks on my own." Out of nowhere, a sudden piercing interference had the deer resisting the urge to flatten his ears against his scalp. He stiffened dramatically where he stood as an involuntary response and Vox seemed to take this as a cue to step closer into his personal space. He had some kind of remote in his hand, turquoise blue claw holding over the button on the front. A frequency jammer of some kind... Vox lifts his other hand to brush through the back of Alastor's fringe and into his hair uninvited. Alastor raised his fingers together to snap, but the buzzing in his head was overpowering all of his senses. Using drastic powers now could knock him unconscious—a fate he wasn't willing to risk in the presence of his rival.
"What's the hurry, buddy? You got me all wrong here. I'm not kicking you out. Actually, I'm inviting you in~"
"How kind of you... though, I must decline." Idly, he tries to swat Vox's hand away. But his response time is so unnaturally slowed that his wrist is easily grabbed in the air instead. It's a total violation of his personal bubble that doesn't agree with him. This time, he risks taking a heavy step backwards and scowls as Vox simply moves along with him to avoid letting go.
"I iz—ix—insist! After all, you're looking a little pale. Poor baby~"
"Ssss—st—op this... crossing m—y signals is so- immature." His audio was already going fuzzy, cutting out between words and raising in pitch without his control. He forces himself to keep a composed expression on, despite the ungodly pain ringing in his skull. If anything, the jab makes Vox increase his electromagnetic interference to such an unbearable degree that the radio demon's vision starts to blur like the very static distorting his channels. He was swaying on his feet already, sick with dizzy tension. Vox puts his free hand on one of Alastor's shoulders in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it has him flinching in minor panic instead.
"Shhhh~ easy there, radio doe. Insufficient filtering... Now that's a design flaw in your cute little ancient head. Ez—ex—easy to fix, honestly. But being outdated is part of your charm, now isn't it?" He chuckled darkly, admiring the way Alastor's pretty eyes were going heavy lidded involuntarily. His magnetic interference is ten times as strong when he's right next to his station like this. The screen flickers to a peaceful nature scene with a cute cartoon deer prancing through a meadow. The soothing piano melody accompanying the image isn't wasted on the aching static of Alastor's skull, but nor is it appreciated when it comes from the very source of the problem.
"Amusing..." he bites. But he's already too far past annoyed with the electronic louse. It takes a good deal of willpower to flick his arm aside to break the TV demon's grip on him enough to take a few solid steps away from him. Re-summoning his microphone, he uses it to steady himself there, staff hitting the ground with a resounding thunk. Vox lets him walk away at first, screen already back to his own digitized face and smiling with smug satisfaction. Silence from Vox is never a good omen, especially not after an invitation of his has been rejected.
"Vox..."
"Yeeeesssss, darling? I'll stop if you just agree to come with me, you know..."
He tries to take another step. He really tries. But his head is swimming with so much interference that everything is turning to hazy black around his head.
"Fine..."
He can feel his shadow holding onto his shoulders, trying to keep him from falling. But it's efforts are in vain. Vox can tell the very second when Alastor loses consciousness, striding forward casually to catch his stag in his arms before he can hit the bloody concrete.
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When Alastor comes to, he's disoriented beyond belief. His head is heavy where it's leaning uncomfortably on the metal backing of a desk chair. His body is sore, but at least flooded with relief that the awful interference headache has subsided for now. It seems to be a control room he's found himself in, with TV monitors glowing blue all around him from ceiling to floor. They're not displaying anything, he notices idly, just blank vacant screens. He's not actually tied down, is the second thought that crosses his mind. Being inside the TV station, he would have expected sparking copper wires pricking into every bit of skin and cloth. There was an unbearable heat to this room too. His snappy suit was comprised of several layers that weren't doing him any favors right now. He was just considering removing his coat at least when there was a swishing sound from the wall ahead of him. The sliding door at the front of the room finally opened, TV demon coming through it's maw with a spring in his step.
"Honey, I'm hooooome~!" Vox made a show of tipping his hat to Alastor, who merely raised a brow at him. The red clad demon half lidded his gaze towards the door behind the other overlord as it clicked shut with a tick of a lock.
"Hello again, Vox. Such hospitality... no wonder I didn't visit you sooner," he bit defiantly. He rose from his chair to cut down their height difference as much as possible. He always had a very small disadvantage there as it was, though he was not one to be intimidated by such things. This time though, trapped in the monster's lair, he might need every advantage. His movements were still sluggish, and the heat pooling in his body made him tense up in an unfamiliar way. He makes the mistake of glancing down with a puzzled look and there's no way Vox misses it from where he's watching his every move.
"Oh, you're not comfortable? You just tell me what you need, Bambi. I'll take good care of you~" There was a disturbingly knowing look in those digitized eyes. A predatory stare in them settles over his throat and trails down over the rest of his body as shameless and obvious as Angel Dust might do it, but somehow far more insulting. The deer can feel a blush rising in his own face that definitely shouldn't be there either. The odd behavior suddenly clicks for him, in a way it never had before, and his shaky voice returns to him.
"What... did you do to me..."
"I only stuck a fun little drug into your system, old buddy, old pal. Just enough to get you to uh... relax." The dark chuckle to follow this statement was clear enough. He was afraid to move. His body wasn't obeying him, craving the most bizarre thing as touch. Vox made a point of lifting his hand slowly, giving him time to push it away if he so chose to. The renewed humming in his head is made all the worse by it. Vox touches his cheek tenderly, thumb brushing along the curve of his close-lipped smile. It was altogether forbidden territory that could get him killed any other given day. But today, under the strain, it made the living radio shiver and hold in a gasp.
"This is too fucking perfect... you're already getting hard for me, and I haven't even done anything yet. I knew this would work like a cx—cz—charm."
"Is that what this is all about to you? A quick romp? I'm disappointed."
The digital overlord pushes his screen right up to Alastor's face, hand under his chin angling him to keep that red glowing gaze connected to it. The possessive turn of his grip is bruising on the deer's jaw.
"You got me all wrong, Babe. I don't just want to fuck you... I want you to ez—ex—enjoy it~ Then you'll remember the kind of pleasure that only I can satisfy you with. You'll come back to me begging for more again and again."
"Ah..." Alastor smirked in disgust, "Lofty expectations..."
"It's how it always is, right? We've been at each other's throats for friggen years, Al. I'm the only one that can give you the challenge you so crave. I'm the only one you should ever want~"
Alastor forces himself to back away from the other demon before he can give into whatever unwanted carnal desire is building within him. The only other object in the room is that metal chair though, and Vox merely kicks it aside as he strolls closer again. The radio demon is sure that he could escape if the need turned dire... but something about the heady glow of Vox's screen promised entertainment. He couldn't resist the banter, as if it's weight drew him in. The opposite sides of a magnet colliding together.
"That sounds like a declaration of feelings. So you've got a crush on me, Vox?"
"Heh... if that's what you want to call it, radio doe~" Vox holds both of his arms out to the side as his wires shoot out from behind him. They are merciless as they wind around Alastor's torso with the tensile strength of a snakes tail. Crushing down over his chest, his arms, legs, and throat, the cold metal bites down. Worse still are the tiny copper teeth that sink into his skin like needles. Through those, the electric shock zaps into his very bloodstream and breaks him into a cold sweat.
This pain is only the prologue... A simple tease before the first proper act of their two man play could even begin. There's a strange pleasured gasp, and it takes a full few seconds for Alastor to realize that it's coming from his very own throat. It's connected to that promise of pain, to the pin-pricks of blood seeping out from under the wires.
"Fuuuck... You get off on the hurt, don't you," Vox observes, likening himself to a detective as he strides closer, "I should have tried this from the beginning." The shocks lessen from there to low buzz right into his veins. Almost like Vox wants to keep him shaking, but doesn't want to end it all too quickly. The thought of being toyed with twists at the deer's stomach and shoots through the white wash of static in his head incessantly. It's threatening to flip a competitive switch there. Just a different kind of competition than he's used to. The foreign chemical lacing his body with heat is making him unable to compose his thoughts, or even snap away to cut off the unwanted pleasure.
"Let me go, Vox," Alastor growls low through his own radio filter. He can vaguely see his own reflection in the black spaces of Vox's screen. The way his own red eyes are narrowed with special interest is familiar. The reason for that interest is the only thing that has changed. He levels a sharp stare at Vox as sure as the barrel of a shot-gun and the pink pixels flashing over the screen give away just how effective it is.
"Last time I checked, you could escape perfectly fine on your own, Al... So what's holding you up exactly?"
Good question. Even better, the living radio's smile twitches up a notch. He can swear the monitors behind him are thudding with a subtle electronic tempo. It's beeping and buzzing into a melody, but he'd hardly call it music. Spinning the gears of his own insides, he contributes a grainy 20's jazz beat that doesn't clash with the modern transistor circuits as much as he thinks it should. In fact, the tune that results is as much a tango as their battles over the hellscape between their respective turfs. The swift tinkle of his piano keys and trumpets against Vox's computerized noise creates just the soundtrack he needs to hold one hand aloft and snap on the beat.
Vox clearly doesn't see it coming in time, and several black tentacles lash out to throw him against the monitors decorating the wall. His own eyes transition into radio dials, both aimed a high north as his stations tune into Vox's frequency. "Out-dated" though he may be, he holds more sway over their shared air waves than the box thinks he does.
Alastor makes a grand show of prying the wires off of himself with his bare claws and his jagged teeth. Ripping right into the metal coverings shocks him every time, but the sudden trill of pain all the way up his rib cage is satisfaction incarnate. Once he's been freed, he takes a look at his captive and notices Vox's eyes glazed over with interference. Instead of annoyed like Alastor was though, Vox seems to be breathing heavy and sharing in the coursing heat of the electricity as a willing participant. It gives the radio demon a terrible, amazing idea. Beat the TV star in his own territory... That might be fun.
He strides closer by his own design, dark heels making punctuated tick tocks on the cold gray floor. He can see Vox's breath shudder as he reaches him, red painted fingertips of his gloves encircling around his rival's neck.
"Frankly," Alastor begins with a hungry shine in his stare, "I'm not interested in what you're offering me, Vox..."
"Pffhhh~ Sure you're not..." A smirk blooms across the digitized mouth in front of him. For as excited as the electronic seems, he's also got far too much composure.
"I mean it..." he tightens his grip a little to say, face pressed so close to the screen that his own glows under it's bluish light, "You're right about one thing though... No other demon has ever given me trouble like you do."
"What..." Vox breathes, thrum of his neck against Alastor's hand feeling like a wire in of itself, "What are you gonna do about it, Al~?"
"Instead of those insipid physical suggestions... I'd rather indulge in figuring out if I can taste your electric currents straight from your blood stream... And you look like you want me to..."
"Fz—fx—fuuuuuuck— Yes..."
The radio demon has a feeling his and Vox's ideas of this thing are skewed in opposite directions. But for the moment, the upper hand is within his grasp. He's never seen what Vox looks like under the black and neon striped suit. The deer has never even been curious. Although his claw rips away the flashy bow tie his rival is wearing purely for necessity. As soon as it's free, he spreads the blue fabric away and sinks his teeth right into the metallic gray skin. Vox's face flashes a rainbow of error messages as his processors work overtime to get his reactions straight.
There's an incessant buzzing of an internet dial-up sound effect seeping out of the back of his screen via the colored wire ports. But the taste is fascinating... His skin is cool and sleek with an iron bite to it. It's complimented by the rush of sparks jolting against the deer's tongue. Just as expected, it's like catching lighting in a bottle and every shock to his own system leaves him shaking for more of it.
"Ah~ Fuck—yx—yz—you're gonna drive me crazy, Bambi~"
Vox's voice sounds different. Ridiculous pet name aside, the desperation in it pitches like a fever. Like wicked sparks leaping off of a telephone wire. Evidently though, he's not ready to just sit there and let the living radio devour him. Just as always, the TV preferred to add in his own personal touch. Alastor doesn't see it coming at all, from where he's terribly distracted with the blood in his mouth. Otherwise he might have noticed Vox's body glowing a nauseous cyan with the build up of a battery.
Bolts of energy blast out of him so fast that it pushes away the very air around him and zaps all the black tentacles at once. The things writhe in twitching dismay before they vanish completely, only remnants of their existence being the tears and puncture wounds all over Vox himself. It might have launched Alastor backwards too, if the moving picture show hadn't done it himself in his own blue clawed hands. In either sense, the stag's back hits the floor, teeth rattling with the smash of his head against the dark gray slate a second after it. His smile is still perfect, even if brutally maintained in tempo to the spasms of electricity coursing through his body. He swears Vox's screen is glowing brighter than before, blazing white right over his field of vision and smiling with the same manic glee he feels himself.
"Don't worry..." Vox assures and he forcibly pries the red pinstriped suit apart down the front, "You're going to enjoy this~"
Alastor isn't so sure he believes that. But he feels sluggish and the slight kiss of air against his dress shirt alone is a refreshing coolant. Vox jams his cyan claws into the deer demon's mouth. He is certain that Alastor is trying to bite his fingers clean off as soon as he does. The neon blue claws just barely stop his jaw from clamping down by twisting at an angle. The hand doesn't make it far enough to compromise the sharp grin though, teeth piercing through the deep set gray of the TV's skin. There's a beautifully complacent look on the living radio's face as the rush of blood trickles down into his throat. There's a whirring buzz of radio static beading out of his ears, glitching with voices of various broadcast waves cutting in and out sporadically.
The iron taste keeps him distracted and far enough away from his own head. Though it's not enough to make him miss the way Vox is undoing his dress completely. He's never been so skin bare in front of another demon. The neon glow of Vox's screen is burning to stare at. The slant of his eyes are narrowed with interest in their 2D space. There's a smattering fall of snowflake static behind Alastor's own eyes. A shiver of nervous anticipation creeps along his spine as Vox's stare traces along the intricate sets of scars on his skin.
"You're fucking gorgeous..." Vox mutters quietly. It's enough to send Alastor into a minor panic. He thrashes his limbs against Vox's ripped chest. But the TV demon seems prepared for the attack, and quickly winds a series of wires around both of his foe's arms to pin them down. Wrists bound to the floor, Vox continues his prying review of Alastor's body. Worse yet, his cyan claws drift down to the dark red pants directly below him.
"Don't you dare..." Alastor snarls. The glowing grin over him sharpens at the corners. Even more wires descend from on high and snag at his ankles. His legs are forced apart and the fabric is torn away from his body by force. Alastor's heart beat speeds to a rapid clip and he swallows so thickly that the resounding gulp sings in his ears. Vox's hands are on him instantly. He wants to commit this moment to memory with every one of his five senses. Alastor lets out a beautiful gasp as the hand trails across the expanse of soft red fur starting at his navel and down.
"What have we here~" Vox muses aloud as he examines the trembling body underneath him. Alastor is exceedingly more deer-like underneath all his elegance and prudish fashion sense. His fur is pristine and well groomed. It's also incredibly silky under his hand. Alastor shivers with every touch. His smile strains to stay on his face, even as he bites down on his lower lip with a soft sheen of saliva. Vox straddles him on the floor, hips thrush against the bony pelvis. Regaining control has made him unbelievably hard. Seeing Alastor under him with his clothes ripped off, ears pinned back and antlers extending to their full height with every passing second—it's almost enough to make him burst through his pants. With that incentive, Vox hurriedly moves to tear the rest of his clothes off.
Alastor fights against the wires now. His skin turns an abused shade of purple with the snaking tails strapping his limbs down to the floor. Static consumes his skull like a swarm of gnats on a humid summer beach. He wants to be free, but more than anything, he also wants to taste Vox again. That bitter tasting blood hums across his tongue even as its high fades away. Vox takes one look at the pining expression he's wearing, and slowly lowers himself closer. Alastor shamefully cranes his head up, vying for the addictive poison to dance across his taste buds one more time.
"Ah ah ah, Al~" Vox teases, "You know what I want from you~"
Alastor's ears flick back with distaste at the cloying tone of voice. But admittedly, he's close to giving in.
"Quid pro quo, Vox," He somehow manages to say. His voice isn't desperate yet, and for that he's proud of himself. Vox seems to know what he means. He puts his hand into Alastor's mouth again. It's a bold move. That shark-like smile could easily bite his hand clean off of it's limb. Alastor doesn't risk that though. He needles his teeth between pointer finger and thumb and bites down hard. He's delighted when the hot liquid seeps down his throat and over his tongue with delectable acidity. Alastor moans. It rumbles low in his gut and shoots straight into Vox's groin. The sound is pure ecstasy, and the pain doesn't do anything but enrich the flavor.
It's a struggle to keep himself from rutting against his prey now. But Vox wants to do this properly. It would be too easy to take Alastor against his will... But to make him enjoy it and crave it just as much as he did... That would really break his foe into a satisfying stupor. The TV demon leaves his hand in the other demon's mouth, and moves his free one down to the space between Alastor's legs. His manhood is only a shadow of erect, limp and disinterested where it lays. But that could be fixed. There's a startled whimper as he takes it and begins to stroke down it's length languidly. The organ burns like fire under his palm and sends a rush of disgruntled radio frequencies into the air waves around their shared space. Alastor can't speak while he's sucking on the other demon's blood, but the blush on his face proves that he's enjoying it.
Alastor nearly chases Vox's hand when he finally pulls it away with a saliva slicked pop. The wet and bleeding appendage is immediately put to use lower down. The deer ears pin down against Alastor's pretty red hair, and he cries out in distress. His sensitive flesh already feels over-stimulated. Vox feels high on adrenaline. He pushes his legs up and slots himself into the space as his wires help to maneuver Alastor and keep him locked into submission.
There above Alastor's exposed rear end, Vox spots the most adorable sight of his afterlife. A beautiful little plush red and black tail twitches to cover the tiny thing Vox is most interested in. It's easily moved aside as Vox gets his fingers around it. Tugging on the piece of fluff in a way that makes Alastor's hooves kick at their binds in protest. He's not going to waste any more time on teasing either. Vox is nearly out of his mind with need and burning want enough to suffocate him. He spots Alastor trying one last desperate attempt to summon his eldritch coils to his aid, but it's halted abruptly as the plug of a wire inserts itself right into Alastor's body.
That filter-washed scream nearly gets Vox to come on the spot. It echoes across the control room like a private symphony. This is Vox's song. Alastor is singing only for him now. Vox will be the first one ever to conquer this gorgeous insufferable beast.
Vox presses his screen down until the plasma surface bumps against Alastor's nose. Then his mouth opens and his blue tongue comes free of the 2D plane to delve into Alastor's mouth. Vox has always wanted to kiss him. It's rough and powerful and everything he ever hoped it could be. He can't get a good angle to deepen it with, with his bulky flat screen. But he practically gags Alastor as his tongue loops and tangles with the blood soaked appendage inside the wet cavern of his mouth. Alastor is annoyed at first, thinking Vox is trying to steal the delicious taste of sparkling blood right off of his tongue. But a moan is choked out of him as the wire inside his body prods at a sensitive area of skin. It's unlike anything he's ever felt before. His entire body quakes with disgust.
The room floods with an immediate white light all around them, coming from the huge monitors that encircle the room. Their flat screens come alive, not unlike Vox's own face. But the subject being displayed is the up close and personal shot of Alastor himself. He is forced to see himself blushing and breathing heavy, face all a shine with unreleased tension. His hair is askew and his ears are pushed far back on his head at the subtle buzz of the screens screwing with his own internal radio. It's only displaying him from the neck up, and while that's a small plus... He hates it. He hates everything about this.
"Liking the show, baby?"
"No."
"That's okay. It's for me anyway. I can't get enough of you. And I wanna remember this for whenever I'm fz—fx—feeling lonely, know what I mean?"
"If y-you show this vulgar video to anyone—"
"Relax, Bambi~ This is my own private show. I'm the only one allowed to see you like this..." There's a hand on his jaw, forcing him to look at the screen ahead of him where it's his own mirrored face instead of Vox's own exaggerated digital features.
"S-stop it... I don't need to see that..."
"Have some confidence, Al. You're a real beauty. Scream my name nice and loud when you cum, okay? I want it to be burned into my hard drive for the rest of my afterlife~"
"You're disgusting."
A sharp jab in Alastor's lower end completely blindsides him.
Vox's arms wrap around him in such a controlling fashion. The touch is making his skin itch, as if there's something crawling beneath the surface. But his body is so sluggish and spent, he can't even muster the strength to raise an arm. This is the worst. This is exactly why he detests going anywhere near needles and drugs. They take away the precious control that he's fought his entire living existence to get...
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A/N: So uh... there's a part 2 for this one, if anyone is into that...
Otherwise, I'll end it here.
Thanks for making it this far! Love ya, Reader. 3