🦌 no signal, tbh I have no idea what this is or how to write it, which is why it took me several days to do even this much. While juuuuuust sliding into sleep one night, I thought: what if Alastor eats Vox, but very scary and kinda sexy? And here we are.
Alastor’s grinning, real pleasure in how much of his gums are visible, the taut stretch of his face with the lime-green stitches holding it in place, his teeth splashed red. The real smile almost makes it worth it.
"We can be honest now, can't we, Vincent? I've wondered about your flesh. Would it even be edible? Would it stink of oil and crunch with gears?"
"Not since the fifties," Vox wheezes. "You really don’t know shit about technology, old man."
Alastor’s pupils tick from side to side, finding the right frequency — up here in the tower it’s all static sticking in Vox’s speakers, and he can feel his broken connections, the loose sparking ends and greasy wires. Alastor brings his hand up to lick the dark blood from his fingers, eyes closing as he savors it, then opening, dropping down to where he straddles Vox’s torn-up waist.
"Oh, that's very humiliating, Vincent." Said so soft.