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Vox is drunk.
It usually takes a lot to get him going, he’s been drinking since before he was allowed too, stealing sips from his father’s locked liquor cabinet. He developed a taste for artisanal whiskey when he’d steal it from his communications professor’s apartment after study groups. It made beers at parties feel like nothing at all. Usually that was a good thing. Other people could be stupid and get wasted in public, and Vox could be there getting blackmail for the following morning. And that was just alcohol. Vox took all of his business meetings after at least a bump of coke and half a laced cigar. He was good at drugs.
Everyone who lived through the forties was.
When he met Val in hell, that opened him to a world of hallucinogens he’d never tried while alive. (They were not good for him. He liked them too much. They make him pushy and reckless.) Getting crossfaded off of Valentino’s sex pollen was basically a weekly occurrence. He could make himself any type of body that he wanted, and once one built up a resistance, he’d dump it for an upgrade.
And still,
he is drunk.
Weird.
Nice.
“I’m drunk.” He tries to say, but it comes out stuttery.
“That means I’ve won our bet then, doesn’t it? Wonderful!” Vox blinks, and he remembers he’s in the dog shit awful loser idiot hotel that Alastor wastes his life away in. The bright golden glow that surrounds Alastor comes from their tacky décor. The bar stool’s cheep crushed velvet was going to wrinkle his slacks. “Though you shouldn’t feel too bad, dear. The absinthe will do that to anybody.” Alastor’s voice swims through the air.
“I like it.” He takes the little glass up to his mouth. For some reason it remained empty. “We need to get this in the tower for sure.”
“Vox.” Alastor has his pity grin on. Vox liked this one. He liked being pitied by Alastor. That’s when he was nicest to him. “You were so confident, and then all it took was one glass?” The melted sugar stuck to his tongue.
“I’m not a light weight." Vox said, blinking. “I love drugs.”
“And not even any of the good ones.” Alastor sighs. They used to argue about it before the worst day of Vox’s life- before the first worst day of his life, anyway. Alastor liked expensive artisanal drinks and weed. What an absolute downer. “Well, that is that. Good bye, Vox.”
And then Alastor disappears.
He looks down at the glass in his hands.
What was the drink called again?
“Sazerac.” Oh, Alastor’s cat was here too. “Bar’s closed. Fuck off.”
“Sazerac….” He’ll text it to himself.
Oh, right.
No phone.
The dog shit awful loser idiot hotel that Alastor wastes his life away in house arrest orders were very clear about what he was and wasn’t allowed to have. Alastor negotiated Vox’s head from those two traitors. Sazerac, Sazerac, Sazerac, downside of all of those awful drugs he likes so much. His memory was going at the end there before he died. Easy to write shit down but-
“Where did he go?”
The cat glares at him, arms crossed and everything.
“Somewhere else. Fuck. Off.”
What the hell is this freak’s problem? Whatever. Vox stands up and lists so sharply to the right that he would have crashed into the floor if it wasn’t for the fact that he crashed straight into the most annoying bitch in the world.
“Woah there, hey Vox, are you okay?”
“They had a stupid bet.” The cat yells over his shoulder. “This creep is a lightweight.”
“Oh, you’re… drunk?”
“To the gills.” Alastor’s static made everyone jump. “I forgot to bring a gift with me. Vox, pal, try and focus up for a second, what does Velvette like to drink?” Vox wants to say she doesn’t really drink, and when she did it was martinis with Val. (They were not good for her. He should make her stop, when he gets back.)
“She likes weed?”
“Oh, see. She has good taste. And I’ll definitely be late then. Hmm.” He tilts his head, thinking. “Well, I’ll just have to share, I suppose.” His secret stash… Vox hasn’t seen it in ages.
“Alastor?” Charlie rights Vox upright. “Is, uh-” Charlie points at him awkwardly. “He going to be okay?”
“Of course he will. You watched his head get ripped clean off his shoulders just two months ago. He’ll survive a little drink. And it really was only one Charlie. You can’t fault this absolute loser one drink, can you?”
“I… guess not.” Alastor pointedly glances above them. Vox tilts his screen as far back as he could go in his new neck brace. Oh, that’s what the ticking was. Right. “A-Also, while I have you, real quick, promise, um, do you have to be so mm… mean to him? Out loud like that. In public.”
“Oh, Charlie it’s fine.” Alastor says, and Vox, even muddled and stupid and drunk for the first time in decades, knows his doom is coming swiftly and mercilessly. “I promise he likes it.”
The rush of his fans drowns out the rest of their conversation. The princess leads him to one of the couches in the lobby. He slumps down face first.
That’s the real evil of it.
He does like it.
Whiskey dick is the only thing keeping him soft.
Lucifer is a bitch and Alastor is the real Devil. Ha ha ha. He lives in that guy’s house now. Fuck him. Fuck his life. Fuck all of this. Redemption bullshit, who cares. But heaven is a new chance. He can be god when he actually gets there. No need to rush. That’s his problem, always rushing. Always thinking about Alastor and always rushing.
The radio demon is a disease.
More of a virus than Vox is, apparently. Alastor’s shadow wooshes out of the front door.
Byeeeeeeeeeee.
The hangover is going to kill him.
“Why the fuck is he in public?” Oh annoying Australian girl, go away. “Bitch, are you fucking kidding me-”
“Cherri! Cherri! He’s drunk, he’s just drunk.” Charlie rushes around. “Just ignore him. He’s- honestly I’m not sure if he can walk, so…”
“Oh, so when we get sloppy drunk we’re told to keep it in our rooms but when this piece of shit-”
“Cherri, it was Alastor’s thing.” The cat says. “You know I wouldn’t serve him.”
“Whatever. Fine. Whatever!” The couch is fine to lay on, maybe even sleep on. That’s a thought. Oh, that’s such a nice thought.
“Hiiiii Vox.” Suddenly Charrlie’s voice was right at his ear. Where his ear would be. “So, quick question, did you break any of the hotel rules while you were doing whatever you were doing with Alastor earlier?”
Vox pushed himself up with his arms and shook his head.
No Violence, No Deals, No Intentional Hypnosis.
“We just made a bet. Like Al said.” It sucks that he’s down here again, on the floor. Forced to answer to people again, and again, and again- it’s fine. It’s just a challenge. Just a test. God always has to face challenge probably. Vox couldn’t remember if that happened in the Bible or not. Who knows. Who cares. “I wanted to go with him to talk to Velvette, he said you’d be pissy and that I should be,” and then in Alastor’s voice, “grateful that we’re redeeming people,” Back to normal, if a little slower, “now. He wanted to make me a drink that would get me drunk, to see if I could, and I told him it was bullshit and he said here and then I drank it and now I’m on a couch. No rule breaks.”
If his eye buzzed or not, Alastor didn’t react.
He couldn’t tell if it was buzzy or not.
He missed Shock.wav. He hoped his baby was okay.
“...Are you okay?” Charlie Morningstar had the audacity to ask.
“Yeah. I’m gonna sleep it off.” And then he let his head drop back into the cushions.
“Okay, I’ll tell people to keep it quiet.”
“Yeah.” Vox mumbled, volume already starting drop. “Shhhh quiet.”
…
The hangover feels like someone hooked live wire to his head.
He wakes up when it’s dark, the lobby quiet and empty, and the pounding migraine only gets worse when he sits up. His back is absolutely killing him. He should stumble into his room but it’s sooooo far away. Ugh, why is he the one suffering all the time? Why is nothing fair? Why is nothing easy? Why must every thing be such a fucking challenge?
The angel sits alone, reading at the check in desk, and that’s the only source of light. Still way too bright. Vox squints, up at the clock he discovered earlier.
Four in the morning, ew.
He drags himself to the stairs. The angel stares at him over her book. He fights the stupid urge to flip her off. He lifts his left leg up and Alastor sweeps in, flashbanging Vox when he turns on all the lights at once.
“Come on!” He whines, eyes as closed as he could get them, brightness set to zero on his monitor.
“Ugh, enough with the light show.” The angel frowns, Vox can hear it in her voice.
“Oh, but it was so gloomy.” Alastor sways as he walks, rolling off the end of his high. “We’re supposed to be bright, be welcoming? What would Charlie say if she knew you were keeping this place so drab?” She's saying something that isn’t in English, but Alastor interrupts her with an eye roll, and the lights dim down to fifty percent. “Don’t start your tirades dear, I’ll be nice, see?”
“Nice.” She barks. “You know what would be nice? Not being here.”
Alastor just hums to that, all of the radios in the lobby crackling to life and playing so jazzy number.
“Oh, you’re still up?” Alastor asks, walking past him, swaying a bit as he went. “And how have you managed to shame yourself in my absence?”
“Fuck you.” Vox grits out. “My head feels like someone took an ax to it.”
“Wouldn’t that be something.” Alastor is above him, passed him only to linger on the landing. “Does the inept piece of plastic need some help?”
“I don’t need jack shit from you.”
“No?” Teasing, cloying, melted sugar on his tongue. “Not even this?” And then the ground disappears under his feet, and there’s nothing nothing nothing until they (oh god, Alastor is in his room) are both upstairs. The shadow spits Vox out on his bed, but the motion, the movement, the cold in the dark. “Oh, dear.” Vox scrambles and vomits over the side of his bed. “After one tiny drink?”
It burns going up, and the smell almost makes him puke again.
He’s scared.
He’s scared to meet Alastor’s eyes when he’s like this.
The look on his face might put Vox into a second early grave.
His vision goes blurry, starts too lose quality.
“Vincent.” Alastor’s hand nudges his monitor. A side of a finger. Hypocrite. It glides back and forth, smooth. “Look at me.” Vox shakes his head. Alastor’s claws grip onto his chassis, and force him into place. Plastic cracks under his fingers. “Poor pathetic piece of shit, hm? I always liked you better when you were like this. Desperate. It really suits you.” He twists Vox’s face this way and that. The soft neck brace still scrapes against wires.
At least his room is dim.
“That hurts.” He whines and Alastor scoffs, and lets him go.
A snap of his fingers and the mess is gone.
Vox is still on his knees, looking down at Alastor’s shoes. His head still aches, his throat burns. His body is sweating. Trying it’s best to run all of it’s systems while overheating.
“Well, I had a lovely evening. I’m happy to know yours was awful. If you need anything else, don’t bother me with it.” He pats the side of his face. “Have a splendid night, chum.”
His dick twitches.
“What did you-” Ugh, the taste is still in his mouth. “talk about? With Velvette?”
“Oh, and why should I tell you?”
Because you made me stupid in public for your entertainment.
Because you made my migraine worse?
Because I’ve had a bad day?
Because you made my dick hard?
“She’s, you know. I worry, sometimes.” Did he? He was still wearing her suits. “Someone has too.”
“Worried, are you? How... considerate.” Alastor hooks an arm around one of his bed posts and swings around until he falls on the black covers behind him. “She asked how we were treating you. I reassured her that all of our guests are treated with dignity and respect. She told me to shove it. A charming girl, I like her fire.” Vox turns to look down at Alastor’s smiling face. “Valentino asked me for your number. I had to disappoint him. I hope you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to re-traumatize you.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Well he’ll have to make do with poor miserable Angel Dust for the time being. What a martyr!” Alastor sighs wistfully. “Mostly we just gossiped though. Before I left, I extended Velvette an invitation to the next overlord meeting. I believe we both have a few words for Ms Carmine. Oh, she really is such a gem. Has she met Rosie yet? I think they might like each other.”
It felt like getting stabbed.
“Why her?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you being friends, with her!”
A sharp, shrill laugh.
“You’re so easy.” Oh, that awful grin from the tower is back. The clip of Alastor’s manic awful fucking grin, even strapped down and at Vox’s mercy. Come the fuck on. ‘What was it, inspiring?’ Over and over again, ice water in his veins, until his vision blurs. Learn the fucking lesson you stupid fucking moron. “Oh, chin up, Vox, it’s fine. I think it makes you charming. Look at you blushing! No, don’t turn away.” He giggles.
All of the blood rushing out of his head doesn’t help the migraine.
Now he feels his pulse in two places at once.
What a fucking rush.
“Are you hard Vincent?” Alastor stretches, gets comfortable. “I won’t look, you can lie.”
“Fuck you.” It comes out glitchy, plosives always make the stutter worse. And then he’s small and tiny and in a corner and asking “So what if I am?”
“It means you’re pathetic. So pathetic. Predictable too, because of it. That’s why I agreed to the princess’s ridiculous idea to redeem you of all people. You tortured her father! Isn’t that so funny? Oh, I was just in stitches about it.” A rimshot plays from the radio on Vox’s night stand. His dick twitches, heavy on his thigh. He’s going to fuck up Velvette’s suit. She’s going to be so pissed at him. Fuck, it just twitched again. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things recently. I’ve beaten you, that’s undeniable at this point. But then you were so helpful when you got rid of that other pesky chain on me. I was so charmed at the end there. You were really going to kill yourself? Just for me?”
He sounds so pleased.
Vox feels a wet stain start to form.
“You can touch yourself. Don’t deny yourself on my account. Everyone already knows you’re a hopeless pervert.”
“Because I touched your shoulders a couple of times?!” His hand is already on his cock, stroking feverishly. Up, down, his hands are clammy. He's shivering.
“Because you don’t respect boundaries.” Alastor lilts in Charlie’s voice.
He feels drunk again.
“You could- have- just- told- me!” He gasps, dick weeping.
“I did!” Alastor hums, voice going higher for a second, a crackle of radio. “But you’re so obsessed with me, you just can’t help yourself! Maybe if I get him drunk first, maybe if we get high together, he’ll just get over it? We’re friends, right Vincent? Is that how you treat your friends?”
He comes so hard it shoots off the bed and straight onto the carpet.
“I wonder how you’ll explain that to Nifty tomorrow? Or are you going to be a good boy and clean up after yourself?”
His skin hurts.
He feels fucking crazy.
“Uh uh uh.” Alastor tuts. “ No Intentional Hypnosis. Turn your eye off, Vox. You don’t want me to go get Charlie do you? You don’t want her looking at you like this, trust me. Even she wouldn't put up with you then.”
“It’s not-” Intentional. He didn’t notice his eye was buzzy. He didn’t notice he was crying either.
“Go ahead, you fucking creep. Get down on your knees and clean it up.” Suddenly, Alastor is lying next to him on his belly, face held up by arms bent at the elbow. Feet kicking in the air like teenage girl. He didn’t look hard. He just looked like he was enjoying himself. “This sort of thing is fun. You’re like a piano, I can wring any tune I want out of you. You don’t even make it hard for me. Get on your knees, Vincent.”
Vox gets on his knees.
He cleans up his mess.
…
Alastor insists Vox shower and clean his mouth thoroughly after.
“I’ll check!” He waves him off.
Somehow, he manages to shower. He uses the generic hotel soap and doesn’t even think about how it will dry out his skin. He just keeps looping over what happened. Over and over and over, Alastor’s voice on repeat while he jerks off and comes for a third time down the shower drain.
He’s going to rub his dick raw.
What the fuck is going on?
He brushes his teeth, uses mouth wash, flosses. God forbid he disappoints Alastor.
What the fuck is going on?
Vox walks out of the shower dazed. Alastor is sitting now, staring right at him.
“Open.” He says after Vox walks over to him, so Vox does what he’s told. Alastor puts his fingers in Vox’s mouth.
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON???
Alastor’s thumb rests on his tongue, sharp claw keeping him still. Fingers rubbing along his teeth. Alastor’s head tilts. Is that- holy shit- is that approval? Well, deer or whatever, Alastor’s only ever been a predator. He’s always liked his teeth.
“Good job, Vox!” The robe hide less then his slacks did. It made Alastor laugh again. It was a nicer laugh now. “Angel Dust really knew what you would like. I hope you enjoyed it.”
“Y-yeah.”
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
“Wait- Wait what?”
“Oh, you know me. I don’t like owing people. You were, for better or worse, instrumental in my great personal happiness. Now there’s nothing for you to lord over me about that. Oh, but I was being honest earlier. I do like playing you like a fiddle. Such a fun toy!”
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Y-yeah.” He repeats again. “Okay.”
Glowing, glowing, glowing.
“Wait, sorry, Angel Dust told you- what? I top him? Like all the time?” He's still muddled, to fucked out without even being touched about it, to force his circuits to work right.
Alastor gives him the pity smile. Twice in one day. Today really is a day of miracles.
“Don’t worry your stupid big little head about it, darling. Just get a full rest. Doesn’t that sound nice, Vox?”
He’s never been more tired and/or wired in his life before.
“Why are you like this?”
“A good high always makes me nice. Don’t you remember?”
That made more sense. Kind of. Hazy smoke filled memories. Weed just made him hungry, but Alastor luxuriated under it. It made him lighter, more indulgent. The one sacred memory of them falling asleep on the same bed a million years ago. If he spent the night smoking with Velvette then-
Okay. Yeah.
Alastor springs up, twirls his staff into existence, heads to the door.
“Can you make me that drink again? S-sometime maybe? If- if you’re not busy?” He sounds like he did when he got here. Worshipful and needy.
“Maybe, if you’re good.” Alastor says, and disappeared, gone under the door and to his tower. His morning show would start soon. Right, Al doesn’t sleep. Vox already wasted the entire day away. But when he gets in the bed, he sprawls on his back and stares at the ceiling.
The memory comes unbidden.
Alastor grinning, leering, staring, attention undivided, calling him revolting while he was on his knees licking his own cum out of the carpet.
A lazy smile drags across his own face.
Vox really was one of the lucky ones.