The dry mockery is met with a little scoff, a distracted and dismissive sound. Under different circumstances, that sort of jab would have started a round of bickering, with Vox pointing out how Alastor's jokes and humour in general are even shittier than his most of the time. It's just who they are, how they normally ate with each other. Nothing is given up without a fight between them.
However, there's nothing normal about what's happening right now. The Radio Demon could have insulted him in any way, stuck his claws into any of his metaphorical wounds as deep as they can go, and he would have hardly noticed. Nothing of what came out of his rival's mouth can matter more than his current actions.
The way he's adjusting his body to allow Vox closer. Those hands holding his screen, without malice or ill intentions. How their frequencies mix, tuning in on each other, intertwining as if they were meant to belong on the same wavelength. The teasing tickling of electricity causing playful shivers to run along his limbs.
How can his drunk mind fear rejection when he's being so eagerly welcomed in?
Oh, my silly little picture box.
The Media Demon finds himself smirking more wildly at the admonition, barely holding back a chuckle at the pet name. He's so much more than a "walking picture box" nowadays, but on one thing the other Overlord is right, even if Vox would sooner gut himself with angelic steel than admit it.
He is Alastor's, whether he likes it or not, whether his rival wants him or not. He has been for years, and it has never changed. It's as set in stone as their eternal damnation.
Each and every of his thoughts glitches and freezes, scrambled by the tidal wave of static that crashes into them when their mouths meet once more. His fans whirl faster, electricity rushes more quickly along his cables, and all that's left is the Radio Demon. His touch, his taste, his warmth. The thrumming of his electromagnetic waves.
In the blink of an eye, Vox is lost, and j honestly wishes to never be found again, if it means that they can stay there, like this, forevermore.
"...Oh, ҉A҉҉L҉҉A҉҉S҉҉T҉҉O҉҉R҉," he mumbles without even realising it, the moment the break away, just barely, to catch a breath.
Had he been in a sounder mind, he would have been grateful for how his lips seek out his rival's immediately after, preventing him from saying more, from voicing things he would have regretted dearly. Maybe he will be, later. For now, he just dives back into the hungry kiss, shamelessly desperate, hands squeezing the other's hips as he presses their bodies as close as they can physically get.
Even in his intoxicated state, he knows better than to get too excited, even if the sight of those antlers stretching out and the distortion of that voice have ignited a little spark in his guts. A guy can dream, can't he? And he is definitely going to have plenty of dreams and day dreams about this for weeks to no end.
The temptation to say something is strong, but he holds it back. Alastor is so sure he has this in the bag and he's hellbent on proving him wrong. So he'll do what he said, keep kissing and tasting him over and over, until the Radio Demon forces them to separate. Or, at least, tries to.
dededos
annaxmalina
titsay
yousharknotpass
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
