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Carmilla Carmine leaned back in her high-backed seat, her nails drumming on the armrest. Her gaze settled on Vox, seated across from her with the other Vees. His screen flickered subtly.
She narrowed her eyes, suspicion creeping over her features. ”Vox, would you care to weigh in?”
He didn’t look up right away. On his screen, superimposed over Carmilla’s glare, a digital card shuffled into place. Red Queen. Black King. He hesitated, dragging one over... before sighing internally and double-clicking it into submission.
He finally grinned blandly, “Just enjoying the sound of your voice, Carmilla. It’s soothing..” ‘..like a dying dial-up connection.’
A wave of staticky amused tittering washed over his signal, and Vox’s eyes darted over to the Radio Demon, seemingly giving Carmilla his full attention. Vox’s eyes narrowed; he supposed he had accidentally let that thought travel the airwaves. It wasn’t often he and Alastor were in such close proximity anymore - he’d have to be more cautious.
Carmilla resumed speaking, effortlessly gliding into the next agenda item. “As I was saying, before Vox so generously rejoined the present, we now need to address the encroachment along the northern trench of the Doomsday District. My scouts have reported unsanctioned activity, and frankly, I don’t care which of you is playing empire games, but it-”
‘Ah, here we go. The Queen of Monotony’s Greatest Hits: Volume Infinity. Someone wake me when she says something that isn’t dipped in ego and dust.’ In his head, the sound of shuffling digital cards began anew.
Just as he began to contemplate his next move, a sharp static crackled across Vox’s frequency, followed by a sudden, uninvited image that flooded his mind with a visceral clarity: Alastor's claws tearing into him with bloodthirsty delight, drawing blood and gore amid a sparking system failure, chest split open, casing cracked; sharp teeth gleaming, stained with a mix of blood and synthetic fluid, ripping into flesh with a savage brutality. The sensation was horrifyingly real, cords tearing, metal buckling, the wet splatters and the blinding overloading of systems screeching through Vox’s skull.
His breath hitched. It had flashed directly into Vox’s mind, using the privacy of his own channels.
Eyes downturned, widening into a slow, incredulous glare, he risked glancing down the table at Alastor, who still appeared to be focused on Carmilla while simultaneously maintaining the gory transmission, along with a staticky smattering of satisfaction.
‘Tapping into my frequency like it’s a public access stream… You old bastard. Bored enough to go poking around my firewall just for kicks?’
Vox huffed, quickly returning his gaze to the head of the table.
‘Alright, old timer. You wanna play? Then tune in to this. ’
Vox smiled easily and straightened in his seat, his posture sharpening into something composed and mindful. He clasped his hands together on the table in front of him; a picture of polite attentiveness.
He then shot back a relay of his own, seizing control of the sensory feed with a practiced hand and overpowering Alastor's own imagery: the rending claws that once tore open muscle now dragged slowly and deliberately across bare skin, hot and unbroken, flushed with want instead of trauma. Alastor’s claws, once soaked in gore, now trailed red lines down a broad chest as they raked across firm muscle, his arms reached around to Vox’s back as he was laid down, palms flattening to hold onto the muscular build above him, trembling and desperate to gain purchase on the sweat slicked skin as Vox began to move.
It cut off with a blat of bitter static as Alastor's grin faltered, just a flicker. His signal withdrew quickly and left the frequency smoldering with a trail of grey burn-in.
Vox was awash in self-satisfaction, which he definitely let crawl across that frequency. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table edge and his screen against his clasped hands as if he hadn’t just practically broadcast a sex tape through the electromagnetic ether.
‘Go on, old man,’ he thought lazily, ‘try and top that. I dare you.’
He didn’t have to wait long.
The image of Alastor in full demonic glory tore across Vox’s mind in obscenely vivid detail: antlers branched out, eyes void-blackened and pupils glowing with eldritch heat, teeth bared in a painfully wide grin. He was hunched over like a beast freshly freed from its confines, looming above a much smaller, ragdoll-like version of Vox; stripped of bravado, his limbs slack with defeat.
With a performative gusto, the monstrosity plucked his victim up, holding him above a wide set of grotesque jaws before a long serpentine tongue uncoiled and enveloped him with horrifying intimacy.
And then it pulled him in. Dragged down into the gnashing darkness.
Vox didn’t react outwardly. But slowly, deliberately, he turned his gaze low and in Alastor’s direction, and he stared. His jaw clicked slightly behind his screen.
That was….fuck it, that was hot. And if Vox were to be completely honest with himself? He was absolutely getting off on it.
He opted to pretend that he was fine, everything was fine, and he definitely wasn’t getting a little overheated as he set his fans to low so he could let that image rest in place for a moment longer than necessary before quickly saving it and dismissing it. He then sent back his own response, eyes still on Alastor.
The image of Alastor deranged with murderous glee changed to one soaked in a different kind of heat: Alastor stood breathless in a spellbound rapture, back arched against a firm chest. A dark blue hand was curled tightly around his throat, thumb caressing the rapid pulse beneath the bare fawn-soft skin.
His head tilted back, chest heaving as another hand pushed cyan tipped claws between Alastor’s parted lips, probing, dragging along his tongue with a slow, calculated curl. Hooded eyes now darkened with desire rather than fury, Alastor turned in Vox’s grip, and in a smooth languid descent, he slid down his body, sinking to the ground in front of him in a devotional desperation, hands fervently sliding, searching, along his waistband.
Alastor's signal recoiled, shuddering with acidic humiliation.
Across the table, he sat upright in his chair next to Rosie, appearing composed as ever, hands folded politely over his lap, though his grin sharpened dangerously.
Despite his otherwise unassuming air, Vox could note with satisfaction that Alastor was getting flustered over their signal, and his gaze homed in on two spots of light pink (#F4CCCC, if he was not mistaken) slowly brushing across Alastor's cheeks.
“— and if these incidents continue without accountability, I’ll assume consent to retaliation. I trust that’s clear?”
A murmur of halfhearted agreement ran its course through the room as discussions on the balance of power in Hell continued.
Alastor’s signal began to creep along the floor and walls. A soft hum at first, it slowly coated the room in a blanket of invisible electromagnetic prickles. It built into a phantom aurora, carrying the grace of ancient power with it, bleeding endless rainbows of colors and harmonies, and everything else you might find between the rays of the sun. Vox thought it would be beautiful if anyone else could see or feel it.
That if anyone else could see this... they might fall in love with him too.
Until it washed over Vox himself.
A savage wrenching of his bones and cables seized his mind, and his stomach dropped as the image of Alastor's tentacles attempting to rend the limbs from Vox’s body came into full view. He writhed on his knees, suit torn open to reveal numerous injuries no living being could sustain, gashes and holes where he’d been pierced through like a dartboard. Shadowy appendages wrenched his arms behind him to the floor as others snapped around him, crackling with green energy. Alastor walked slowly up to him, red tipped shoes coming to a stop just shy of his restrained legs, which were quickly becoming at risk of being completely detached from his body. The static in Vox’s system began to whine against an invasive, low-frequency hum. In the midst of this fantasy torture, Alastor pressed forward with a deadly snarl few other demons had ever managed to survive beyond, and wrapped his own claws around Vox’s neck.
The pressure was palpable, and, Vox felt, surprisingly not quite as firm as he would realistically expect. Almost….tentative, in fact.
Oh fuck. Vox was definitely sporting a boner now. In a meeting.
‘Shit shit shit shit!’
As if he KNEW, as if the bastard KNEW (and you know what, he probably did), Alastor's ears perked as delighted satisfaction rolled over that waning staticky tapestry.
Vox realized he was breathing through his mouth instead of his vented fans and quickly shut it, trying to calm his racing pulse. This was….getting a little out of hand.
Getting things IN hand would certainly be the preferable solution, Vox thought with some offhand amusement. But that wouldn’t help NOW.
Vox took his time reshaping this one into something new, drawing it out.
Slowly, the very same depiction of Alastor sank down to Vox’s lap, joining him on the floor, and settled his legs on either side of Vox’s hips, still held tight by tentacles. The hand on Vox’s neck tightened, and the other came to rest on his shoulder as Alastor pressed forward, forcing Vox to lay back amid a masse of the writhing appendages. Arms still restrained behind him, beneath him now, Vox grinned up at the Radio Demon and arched his back as he breathed in the heat and arousal between their bodies. Alastor grinned salaciously back down at him, sliding the hand from Vox’s shoulder to brace upon his chest, supporting Alastor's weight briefly as he tilted his head back and rolled his body forward--
The sound of feedback whined briefly through the room as Alastor's eyes, still looking forward, darkened into a wide-eyed glare, and Vox saw Rosie glance at him before leaning over with a light touch to his arm in concern. Alastor's expression quickly lifted into carefully constructed nonchalance, and his ears, which had pinned back briefly, lofted upward once more, as he easily waved her off with a strained grin.
“Alastor? Is there something you’d like to share with the room?” Carmilla smoothly interjected, her head tilting toward him, mouth in an unimpressed frown.
“Oh, heavens no, Carmilla! I’d never want to interrupt your perfectly thrilling monologue. Please, do continue - I’m on the edge of my seat.” Alastor smiled pacatingly at her, tilting his head slightly. Next to him, Rosie raised one eyebrow before turning her gaze toward Vox with a probing look.
Vox ignored her and crossed his legs under the table. Damn it. He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the throb between his legs while also hyper-aware in avoiding encouraging it further.
Carmilla maintained eye contact with Alastor for a few more moments before straightening and beginning the next topic of discussion on the docket. Alastor exhaled quietly, his grin strained. His signal was pulled in, but pulsing with an acrid mix of both irritation and unmet challenge. He was enjoying this, maybe not nearly as much as he hated it, but still..
The meeting continued on, and Vox began to let himself relax as his arousal was allowed to wane. Maybe Alastor was feeling just as done with this game as Vox needed it to be, he could only hope. Though, that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t be immediately downloading every last visual to storage when he got back to the tower; his imagination running through different ways in which he might continue them or edit them.
Those thoughts had him shifting in his seat again, focus slipping, as heat pooled under his skin once more. He offhandedly began to think he might have to start praying if he wanted to get out of this meeting without sporting evidence of his arousal.
Alastor's signal perked back up and Vox internally groaned; they were so close to the meeting being over. He grimaced as he risked glancing down the table.
Alastor had very deliberately not once looked directly at Vox the entire meeting, so he froze when he caught Alastor's eyes suddenly boring into his own (when had that happened?), earnest and intense. And if Vox didn’t know better, he’d swear his own powers had betrayed him as he suddenly felt as weightless and entranced as one of his own victims.
Alastor's gaze was heated, hypnotic. Static and shadows trickled in as Vox suddenly felt like he was being smothered and found he couldn't look away; the intensity of it commanded his own gaze to stay focused on Alastor's eyes as multiple frequencies hummed around him. Shadows took over the edges of his vision as if they drank in the light around them, creeping across the floor, walls, and table; they curled around his legs and coiled over his spine.
A distant drumming sound pounded a rhythm in the background of Vox’s mind and he felt lightheaded. His mouth fell open a fraction as his breathing picked up, staring back into Alastor's blood-red eyes; they were all he could see as the edges of his senses were burned with the black of void.
An image began to form in front of Vox, this time, slowly draping his signal in silk as Alastor's eyes continued to glow from the now dark expanse of Vox’s vision. His pounding heart nearly stopped as an image of himself formed from the shadows.
Vox appeared, clothed in his mockery of a priests garb, a deep crimson, and Alastor stepped out of the shadows close behind him, draped in ebony.
His heart jolted against the cold fire suddenly filling his veins as his breath left him. The fact that Alastor would remember this of all things sent an electric bolt of panicked awe through him. Vox had only admitted to this fantasy once, decades ago, one gentle morning during a time when he thought there was a chance that some playful tenderness might be entertained. Alastor had rolled away from him in mirth, amused and dismissing it as the silly repressed fantasies of a former choir boy.
An arm wrapped around his left side from behind, the hand full of red tipped claws drawing up Vox’s chest as another hand slid down to his right hip, gripping it possessively. Vox felt a soft veil come to rest against the side of his casing at the same time he registered a heady swath of church incense and the phantom taste of red wine, as if each one of his senses were working in tandem to torture him.
The vision of those hands on his body, the black mantle draping off Alastor's dark arms contrasting against the crimson of Vox’s chasuble, had his stomach doing flips, and his veins thrumming as if they couldn’t decide whether to feed the blood-flow toward his heart or his dick. Alastor's grin ghosted over the crook of his neck, eyes never ceasing their glow, and never losing contact with Vox’s, who, despite feeling everything that was happening, was viewing this scene as a spectral third party witness. Alastor then gently pressed against Vox’s back, leading him forward a few steps until his legs met a table, and he lurched forward, bracing his arms upon the surface.
Hot breath on the back of his neck and a lithe frame pressed against his back, half lidded eyes peered from over a cloaked shoulder, while Vox’s own gaze looked back at himself, electric and thrilled, as if daring the viewer to witness their sin. Alastor's eyes glinted in delight as the shadows around them writhed. The beating of drums in Vox’s head grew louder, his pulse, he belatedly realized. He was burning with a desire he’d let smolder for so long, that now it had been stoked into a roaring, all-consuming inferno; and beneath it all he distantly felt something crack, a small part of him that had buried old feelings like a corpse and walked away with its head held high.
At that moment, Alastor's hand slid from his hip, fingers curling with deliberate slowness, beginning to gather the heavy fabric, raising the garment by his thigh in order to slip a hand inside, and, with no ceremony, gripped Vox around his dick possessively.
Vox choked as the sudden hold sent a jolt straight through his spine, the whirls of arousal strumming along with the staccato of his pulse as Alastor smirked against his neck. His blackened forearm held Vox close on one side as he ran his teeth along the straining muscle of dark blue neck on the other. Vox, breathless with anticipation, felt the sharp points of teeth begin to sink down, pressing into the skin there - but they stopped just shy of breaking the surface. Everything around them seemed to slow down, and Vox watched in devastation as Alastor, eyes still burning into Vox’s own, instead placed a featherlight kiss on the spot.
And then, to Vox’s joy and panic and utter helplessness, Alastor began to move his hand under Vox’s garment, loosening his grip to run velvet soft fingers up and down the length of him. The thrill in his core flared, he was panting now, lightheaded. Vox could FEEL it, as Alastor's fingers tightened once more at his base and, with a bygone practice, pressed his fist into a squeeze before jerking upward-
“VOX!” Carmilla’s bark slammed through the room like a whipcrack. Vox jolted upright with a strangled gasp.
”FUCKING WHAT?!”
Silence.
Complete, dead silence.
All eyes turned to him and Vox realized that he was in fact actually standing with his arms braced on the table, and, with no small amount of mortification, that he was sporting a full erection, panting like a dog and eye swirling. On his left, Valentino leaned forward and blinked at the sight before smirking over at Velvette who looked like she might pass out from secondhand embarrassment.
“...I- I mean,” Vox stammered, suddenly all too aware of his own voice, “I apologize, Carmilla. I... misheard.”
He cleared his throat, carefully sitting back down, his screen wiped clear, appearing nonchalant.
“Thought you said something worth responding to.”
A sharp inhale echoed across the room.
Carmilla stared at him, unimpressed, more unimpressed than anyone had ever been in the history of Hell.
“Try that again.” Her voice was icy steel.
Across the table, Alastor was visibly delighted, grin split wide, his posture perfectly composed, though his eyes sparkled with wicked delight as a faint edge of darkness faded from their corners. His ears twitched with smug satisfaction, and he did not look away from Vox.
“Do forgive our resident idiotbox, Carmilla, I believe Vox is simply experiencing….technical difficulties.”
Carmilla squinted between the two of them a moment longer before clicking her tongue and turning her head up, looking as though she had come to her own conclusion.
“Must I babysit you animals through every word.” she muttered lowly. “I’m adjourning this meeting in five. Anyone else feel the need to orgasm mid-meeting, raise your damn hand now.”
Valentino raised his hand lazily. “Do we have to wait ‘til it’s over?”
“OUT.”
