Off the Air (RadioStatic fic)
Chapter 3
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Content: Slow burn, pining, angst, eventual fluff, eventual tickles, forced proximity, plot
Chapter summary: Vox and Alastor are both finding their minds drifting to the pasts a little too often.
Ler Vox / Lee Alastor
Notes: A little bit of angst this chapter but also a few tickles this chapter too!! I might jump around a little with the next few fics I post cuz I want to hop on AlVox week even tho I'm a little late but I have a few ideas
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5,309 words
S̴a̷t̴u̶r̵d̸a̵y̶ ̴E̷v̶e̸n̶i̶n̸g̶?̷
They’ve had way too much to drink again.
It’s been like this for months. Every weekend, Vincent and Alastor would go to one of the best rated bars in town, have way too much to drink, and stumble home once the bartender kicked them out. It’s almost become tradition at this point.
The bar is comfortably warm, the sound of 1950s music playing behind the voices and laughter of the other patrons. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air around them, two whiskey glasses desperately needing a refill resting on the wood in front of the two overlords.
Vincent rests his elbows on the bar top, nearly doubled over in giddy laughter. The mixture of alcohol and pure glee running through his system has brought that cyan blush up to his face, something that was becoming more and more common around Alastor.
He had met the other overlord a few years back, and they hit it off immediately. Alastor has made a name for himself within Hell quickly, getting acquainted with the other overlords that didn’t interrupt his own plans. Whatever those were.
Vincent is one of those overlords, and with how much the two had in common? It was no surprise that they spent nearly every weekend together.
Alastor sits beside Vincent, his ears comfortably tilted back against his skull. His muscles are loose and the corners of his vision are hazy with liquor in a way few overlords in Hell ever get to see. “No, no, my dear Vincent, you’re remembering that little detail incorrectly! You haven’t won one of our little card games in nearly a month.”
Vincent scoffs playfully and clumsily waves one of his hands in the air. “That’s only because you’re a cheat. So technically, I did win. Because I played by the rules.”
“Ah, but you can’t prove that, now can you?” Alastor has a lazily curled smirk playing across his lips, his chin resting in his hand.
One of his ears gives a small flick as the music playing in the bar changes tune, some fresh rock song that’s been popular among the sinners lately. He gives an exasperated sigh as he pushes himself up from the stool, wobbling slightly. “Now that just won’t do. Let me pick something far more fitting for the evening.”
Vincent watches the other man stumble over to the jukebox, an amused chuckle escaping his lips. Something about watching Alastor nearly trip over his own shoes is absolutely adorable.
He’s been feeling it more and more often lately, that little flutter in his chest.
It only ever happens around Alastor.
Vincent has never been interested in men. At least, he thought he wasn’t. But most nights that he spends with Alastor, he has a hard time taking his eyes off of him.
Truthfully, even when they aren’t together, he can’t get Alastor off his mind.
It’s just because he’s conventionally attractive, he reasons, there’s something appealing about the animalistic features, the sharpness of his claws, the curl of his smile…
But it’s definitely not because he’s a homosexual. He’s just… aware of when another man looks good. Nothing weird about that.
The music hovering through the bar is switched to something slower, some jazzy song that sounds like it came right out of the 1930s. Typical Alastor choice.
Alastor stumbles his way back over to the bar top, his hands falling on Vincent’s shoulders with a chuckle. “Come, Vincent, we shouldn’t waste the opportunity! Dance with me.~”
The blush on Vincent’s screen flares brighter as he looks up at Alastor, the smile on his lips pulling even higher. “Dance? Come on, Al, you know I’m no good-”
“Nonsense! There’s hardly any other sinners here, regardless.” Alastor gives a determined, drunken tug to one of Vincent’s arms, dragging him from the chair.
“Alright, alright!” Vincent laughs, wobbling as he stands and following Alastor’s lead. He places his hands on the other man’s shoulders, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel awkward. “You’re gonna have to show me how to do this. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Alastor lets out an amused chuckle, his ears giving one of those little flicks they always do when he’s drunk. “Don’t overthink it. Just follow my lead.”
The two are hardly professionals, especially when they’re half a dozen glasses down. The men snicker with each drunken stumble, chests pressing together as they attempt to move to the beat of the music.
The feeling of Alastor’s chest pressing against his fills Vincent’s veins with pure heat. He can feel his heart beating faster as he looks up at Alastor’s smile, the way his eyes are glazed over and looking down at him with something that almost looks like fondness.
It’s… perfect.
He wants to stay like this for the rest of the night, for the rest of his time in Hell-
But the moment hardly lasts.
The music that had so calmly been filling the air suddenly scratches to a halt, the lights in the bar cracking and fizzling into darkness. The air chills within seconds, all of the warmth and affection that had been swelling Vox’s chest draining into dread.
Something is wrong.
The door to the bar slams open, the other two Vees storming inside.
“Val? Velvette?” Vox’s eyes snap to the two as they approach, though they don’t say a word. Their faces are fuzzy, almost wrong, as their hands land on his shoulders and yank him right out of Alastor’s grip.
When Vox’s eyes flick back over to Alastor, all of the warmth has been drained from his eyes as if it were never there in the first place, pupils pointed into radio dials and his antlers twisting into gnarled curves.
“Al…?” Vox shrinks back into the too-tight hold of his partners, the flutter in his heart racing into something fearful and wrong.
This isn’t what was supposed to happen. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
“Oh, Vox, you always were so naive.” Alastor’s voice has chilled into something icy and cruel, staff appearing in one of his hands with a flicker of neon green. “You really thought you were my equal. When all you’ve ever done is hide in my shadow.”
There’s that feeling again. The feeling of a knife twisting into Vox's chest as his screen starts to flicker with pained static.
All he wanted was to rule Hell together. They would’ve been so perfect together, wouldn’t they? The two most powerful overlords, working together as a team, as partners-
That’s how it should have been.
-------------
Saturday morning
Vox’s eyes snap open, feeling his heart pounding out of his chest. He stares up at the ceiling in silence, claws digging into the sheets and tearing the linens.
A dream. It was a dream.
Fuck.
He hasn’t dreamed about the past like that in years. Normally, he never even remembered his dreams. But this… this was vivid. This was exactly like that night…
God, he feels like shit.
Vox sits up with a frustrated sigh, still feeling that twist in his chest. Feelings he didn’t want to think about are starting to get dragged to the surface, and he fucking hates it.
Fucking stupid. He needs to stop thinking about Alastor so much. It’s getting him all twisted up inside again.
…Where is the prick at, anyway?
Vox’s head turns as he looks side to side. Not in the bed. He starts to scan the room, spotting the other man still asleep on the armchair, still in his suit with a blanket draped over him.
Seriously? He couldn’t get over his pride long enough to even sleep in the bed? Fucking typical. This is exactly why he can’t stand him. He thinks he’s so much better than everyone else.
Vox rolls his eyes and lets out a scoff as he shifts to start getting up. His eyes linger on Alastor for just a beat too long, examining the way his chest rises and falls and the way his ears give a little flick in his sleep.
Man, he does look cute.
Ugh, there’s that stupid word again.
This is exactly why he had that stupid dream. He needs to get up, get cleaned up, and get some coffee. There’s shit to do today, can’t spend it all in bed thinking about… him.
With another sigh, he stands up and quietly makes his way into the bathroom. No use in waking Alastor up. He’d probably just get an attitude. And listening to Alastor’s whining first thing in the morning is the last thing he wants to deal with.
Vox learned when he first arrived in Hell that showers were no longer on his agenda. With literal electronics on his body, it’s just a hazard. It’s faster anyway, he figures, to just wipe his body and screen down to make himself look presentable without getting water in his screen.
After cleaning up, Vox heads downstairs to the kitchen, remembering halfway down the steps that there’s absolutely nothing of interest in the cupboards.
Shit. Right.
With how ordering Chinese takeout went last night, he has a feeling Alastor will be an ass about it if they have to order out for breakfast. Surely there’s something in here that he can work with until he can get some actual groceries delivered up here.
He yanks open the fridge and the cupboards, spotting the leftover sweet and sour chicken that Alastor never ate in the fridge. That’s an option, he supposes, but he has a feeling that Alastor will definitely complain about leftovers for breakfast.
So he checks the cupboards next.
There’s very little to work from that would actually be edible, though after rummaging around and digging to the very back of the cupboard, he finds something palatable.
A box of oatmeal. And it isn’t expired yet.
Surely Alastor won’t complain too much about that. It’s breakfast food, a classic staple, and it’s edible.
Vox rummages around for a pot and dumps a generous amount of the dry oats in. He doesn’t exactly have a ton of experience in the kitchen, he normally pays someone to do that for him, but he can manage a box of oatmeal.
Probably.
--------------
M̵o̷n̴d̵a̷y̷ ̶e̴v̸e̷n̴i̷n̴g̵?̸
“You’ve seriously never heard of this before?” Vincent sits next to Alastor, both overlords sitting on a park bench. It’s late in the evening, the dusk of Hell covering them with a reddish purple hue.
Alastor rolls his eyes good naturedly, flicking the cigarette in his hand as he leans back against the bench. “Please, Vincent, superstitions typically have some form of merit. Flipping a cigarette upside down for ‘luck’ hardly has any basis.”
The two have been spending more time like this together, lately. Alastor typically found it difficult to get along with most of the other overlords, but for some reason, Vincent was different. Vincent doesn’t endlessly irritate him.
Usually.
He can tolerate the occasional Vincent induced headache.
Vincent scoffs at Alastor’s refusal, crossing one of his legs over the other casually. “It’s just for fun, Al. Besides, who would say no to getting lucky? Who knows, it could be exactly what you need. Might help you take down the next overlord that pisses you off.”
Alastor lets out a thoughtful hum and glances over at the man beside him, seeing that puppy-like eagerness in Vincent’s eyes.
It was always flattering when he looked at him like that.
Even though the obvious need for his approval should be disconcerting, it’s never felt that way with Vincent.
It’s strange, how even things that would normally itch under Alastor’s skin don’t quite bother him when it’s coming from the man next to him. Even with Alastor despising most forms of physical contact, he finds himself not minding Vincent’s habits of touching his shoulders or sitting slightly too close together.
If Alastor were really pressed to admit it, he might even say that it’s… pleasant. In a way.
There are even strange, likely delusional and alcohol induced moments where Alastor finds himself wanting to reciprocate.
Just to see Vincent’s eyes light up, the way his screen turns a bright shade of blue. Alastor has noticed that when he’s really flustered, his antenna will even spark with static.
Alastor finds it particularly amusing when they do that.
Lifting a hand, he playfully flicks one of Vincent’s antennae with one of his fingers. “I suppose I can give it a shot. If only to make you stop pestering me about it.”
Vincent lets out a shy laugh and brings a hand up to the back of his head, that cyan blush starting to crawl up onto his cheeks, and…
Ah, there it is.
That spark.
Adorable.
---------------
Saturday morning
Alastor’s eyes slowly flutter open, cracking open to gaze at the ceiling. The pull of drowsiness lingers at the corners of his vision, a heavy and uncomfortable weight that he hasn’t felt in a century.
This is exactly why he hasn’t tried to force himself to sleep for 100 years. The ache of trying to wake up. And, dear lord, the dreams.
Was he really dreaming about Vincent?
And about that night with the lucky cigarettes, no less?
Clearly, he should’ve torn that photograph to shreds last night. It’s getting into his head. Stirring up sentimental nonsense that he thought he buried decades ago.
Vox is getting far too deep into his thoughts. He needs to get this absolute nuisance off of his mind before he does something entirely ridiculous.
With a frustrated sigh, Alastor brings a hand up to wipe his eyes of lingering sleep. He then glances around the room for any sign of Vox, but finds the room completely empty.
He must already be downstairs and preparing for whatever ludicrous idea he’s going to force upon Alastor today.
Alastor pushes himself up from the armchair with a crack of his joints, dusting off the wrinkles in his suit. There’s the scent of something lingering in the air, though it doesn’t smell promising. It smells more like smoke and burnt food than anything edible.
Of course. Vox still hasn’t learned his way around a kitchen after all these years.
His ears flick back with distaste before he pushes out the door of the bedroom and starts to make his way down the stairs. He spots Vox hunched over the stove, fanning away the smoke from leftover crumbs buried in one of the stove eyes.
Vox doesn’t even notice Alastor approach the kitchen, too busy trying to make sure the fire alarm doesn’t go off.
Alastor leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, a hint of amusement coming to his lips. “Ah, I see you’re trying to burn down the place already! While I appreciate the sentiment, you could at least wake me before you set your lovely little home ablaze. I would be quite interested in watching.”
Vox jumps at the sound of Alastor’s voice, hands flying up and his gaze snapping over to him.
Shit. Now he’s never going to hear the end of this.
He scoffs and turns his attention back to the stove. “Actually, I’m trying to make us something to eat. Which is more than you’ve done since we got here.” He picks up the pot of oatmeal he’s managed to throw together, though he probably left it over the heat for a bit too long. “Here. Breakfast.”
Alastor leans forward and peers into the pot of oatmeal, giving a scolding click of his tongue. “You dug this out from the skeleton of the cupboards, I’m assuming? I’m not particularly interested in eating expired oats first thing in the morning.”
“God, you are so fucking impossible.” Vox scowls, pulling out a bowl for himself. “Only other option is the leftovers in the fridge. Either that or starve, see if I care.”
Alastor taps his fingers against his biceps, not exactly eager to indulge in either option. But, he hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. He needs something for the time being.
He decides then that he’s in charge of the cooking from now on. Vincent will not be stepping foot in the kitchen again.
With a sigh, Alastor walks over to the fridge and pulls it open. “I suppose the takeout will have to do. For all I know, you’re trying to poison me with your homemade breakfast.” There’s a hint of playfulness in his voice, but the point remains. He has a feeling Vox likely didn’t cook it correctly.
Vox watches quietly as Alastor pulls the takeout container out of the fridge. So he’s finally giving in. And he’s eating something Vox picked out specifically for him. Even if he doesn’t know it.
A grin pulls onto Vox’s face as he sets his own food on the countertop, leaning in a little closer to watch Alastor picking at the leftover chicken. “See? It’s not that bad. I have good taste.”
Alastor rolls his eyes with a scoff, though he is eating it without complaining too much. It’s not the worst thing he could’ve chosen from that restaurant, but Alastor isn’t going to admit that to the man either. “The only thing you have good taste in is liquor. The rest of your choices are questionable.”
Alastor’s ears flick as he lets his gaze trail over to Vox, really looking at him for the first time this morning. He’s still wearing that ridiculous t-shirt and that infuriating grin is sliding back onto his screen.
He looks… domestic.
Alastor hates that there’s some ridiculous part of his brain finding it appealing when Vox looks like this.
…It is a far better look on him.
An annoyed grumble rumbles from Alastor’s throat. There are those sentimental thoughts again.
It’s just because he’s being forced to spend so much time with him alone, he reasons. Without anyone or anything else to distract him. As soon as this weekend is over, things will simply go back to normal, and they can return to being at each other’s throats as per usual.
Alastor finishes off a final bite of the cold takeout before taking a step back, putting distance between himself and the other overlord. “Well, I believe I’ll go get cleaned up before you decide there’s something I’m required to attend to.”
Vox stays comfortably leaning over the countertop with a grin on his lips. Alastor hasn’t even insulted him yet this morning, not genuinely. “Sure thing. I’ve got plenty for us to do today, don’t you worry.”
“Of course.” Alastor rolls his eyes before turning and heading up the stairs, getting some much needed distance from all of this… domesticity.
-----------------
The hot water against Alastor’s skin is a welcome relief.
Alastor stands under the spray, letting the water wash off the grime of the previous day. But his mind won’t quiet down. The dream is still replaying in his head, memories gnawing at his chest like they haven’t in years.
He leans up against the tile with a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes and trying to will the thoughts spinning through his mind away like has a million times before.
But this time, for some ungodly reason, it’s not working.
Vincent was one of the few people he had ever trusted during his time in Hell, no matter how brief. They had spent so many hours together, giving Alastor so many opportunities to stop being an overlord and just be Alastor.
But that was quickly ripped away when Vincent had tried to talk him into a partnership.
It just proved he’s exactly the same as everyone else that’s tried to get close to Alastor. In the end, they only ever want something from him. They only ever want to use his power to their advantage.
So when Vincent had proven himself exactly the same as everyone else, Alastor had to sever the tie. It wasn’t worth being taken advantage of by someone he considered a friend, no matter how much comfort they offered.
Alastor had suppressed all those feelings and all those memories for a reason, and now they’re being dredged back up entirely against his will.
It needs to be locked back up immediately.
Alastor reaches out to shut the water off, unsure of how long he’s been standing there. He quickly dries himself off, mind set to put all of these ridiculous thoughts behind him where they belong.
As he steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist with black boxers beneath, he’s greeted by Vox leaning against the doorframe and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
At least he had waited for Alastor to be decent enough before entering, he supposes. Even though he’s not entirely comfortable with being shirtless in front of Vox.
Vox takes a step forward, crossing his arms with a grin. “Here’s the deal. You’re not wearing the suit today. We’re on vacation, not going to a meeting. So you’re putting vacation clothes on.”
“Absolutely not.” Alastor snaps back, picking up his folded suit from where had laid it on the dresser. “I will not be wearing any of your belongings that you’ve brought along on this little trip. I am perfectly fine with my usual attire.”
“I’m not asking.” Before Alastor even has the chance to protest, Vox’s cables shoot out from his sleeves and snatch Alastor’s wrists, tugging them together and holding his arms in place above his head.
With the angelic steel bracelets still locked on his wrists, he’s without his powers, leaving him entirely unable to do anything to stop this. He lets out a low growl, eyes snapping up to Vox. “Oh, lovely. You’ve decided to force me into your clothing? And here I thought you had some semblance of decorum.”
Vox steps forward with a smug grin, leaning down to start digging through his suitcase on the floor. He pulls out an oversized t-shirt to match his own, a pair of gray sweatpants, and a pair of fluffy slippers. “This is your own fault for being a brat. I would’ve let you do it yourself, but you just had to make it difficult.”
Vox just knows Alastor is going to look adorable in these. He needs to see it.
Alastor’s ears pin flat against his head, arms forced above his head and leaving him fully exposed to Vox’s view. He hates this. The way his arms are being held are also tugging slightly on the stitching crossing the wound on his chest, only giving away the discomfort with a quiet grunt.
Vox’s eyes snap down to Alastor’s body, spotting the lingering scar on his chest. Right. He had forgotten about that.
He had ripped the damn thing open a few weeks ago. During their battle.
“Sheesh. Still looks pretty bad.” Vox comments, looking over the shoddy stitch work Alastor must have done himself. Still has a ring of red irritation around the wound, too. The cables deliberately loosen around Alastor’s wrists to give him a bit more breathing room, though still hold him firmly in place.
“I would much prefer it if you didn’t stare. It’s rather impolite.” Alastor sneers, his smile tightened. He’s already unhappy about being yanked around while he’s half undressed, and being ogled by Vox isn’t helping.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Vox rolls his eyes and snatches up the black t-shirt, shoving it over Alastor’s head and tugging it onto his body.
As Vox pulls the fabric down, the tips of his claws graze against the sensitive skin right along the edge of Alastor’s armpit. Not intentional, just a byproduct of wiggling the shirt onto him.
Alastor’s muscles tighten at that little brush of his claws, and a noise that sounds like the squeak of a small deer escapes his throat. Undignified.
Oh, that’s a sound Vox has never heard before. That gets his attention instantly, quickly pulling the shirt fully down over Alastor so he can see his face.
Holy shit, Alastor looks completely stiff. He’s that sensitive? Vox needs to take advantage of this.
“Oh? What was that noise for?” His fingers shift to hover over the hollows of his pits again. Maybe he can make Alastor make that noise again. “Don’t tell me you’re ticklish. Is that why you got so weird last night when I said that word?”
Alastor attempts to flinch backwards to dodge the encroaching fingers, but the cables around his wrists hold him firmly in place. “V-Vox, I strongly suggest you don’t continue with this line of thought-”
“Pfft, yeah right. As if I’m gonna pass up the opportunity to hear you make those little noises.” Vox doesn’t hesitate, fingers scribbling against the skin of his armpits. Scritch scritch scritch. “What’s the matter? Too ticklish?”
Yes, Alastor is entirely too ticklish to be entirely exposed like this! It’s a stupid little weakness that he’s never disclosed to anyone. Not in life, and not in Hell.
Vox absolutely cannot, under any circumstance, find out what this is doing to him.
Alastor tries to hold the laughter back, he really does. He even bites down on his lip, but even the feeling of sharp teeth sinking into his skin doesn't stop the way his lips start to quiver with barely restrained laughter.
Worse is the fact that he can feel that heat starting to curl in his stomach again. Something warm and fluttery that he believes other people refer to as butterflies.
He hates it. He hates that Vox is the one causing it.
Vox’s grin only stretches wider as he sees a red blush starting to crawl onto Alastor’s face. Oh, this is too good. He gets all blushy when he’s tickled? Vox is definitely going to remember this.
“Alright, alright, I guess I won’t torture you too much first thing in the morning.” Vox chuckles, pulling his hands back. He has no intention of sticking to his words.
Alastor lets out a breath as soon as Vox’s hands are away from his ticklish areas, barely having scraped by without bursting into laughter. Thank goodness, Vox had gotten bored.
“Are you quite finished?” Alastor tilts his head, attempting to tug his hands back down to his sides. He’s wearing a shirt now, at least, but his bottom half is still lacking anything aside from boxers.
“Nope. We still gotta get these on.” Vox snatches up the sweatpants next, the cables around Alastor’s arms giving him a sharp tug to pull him down onto the bed. Much easier this way.
Alastor’s smile tightens as he’s jerked onto the bed, glaring at the man approaching with the pants. He attempts to squirm and struggle, unwilling to sit and take the forced change of clothing without resistance.
“Hold still,” Vox tries to still Alastor’s squirming legs, but the bastard is clearly determined to make this as difficult as possible and keeps kicking his legs out. He can never make anything easy.
With a sharp tug on his arms, Alastor even manages to slip one of his hands free of the cables around his wrists, hand landing on Vox’s shoulder and giving him a forceful shove backwards.
Vox’s eyes widen with surprise at the shove before narrowing. “Oh, no you don’t.” He doesn’t even bother using his cables this time, snatching Alastor’s wrists and pinning the both of them down to the bed with one hand.
Alastor growls as the other man climbs on top of him, leaving him in a vulnerable position on the bottom. “Get off of me.” He struggles against Vox’s grip, but Vox is holding him down tightly.
Alastor, physically, always was slightly more scrawny than Vox. When he had access to his shadows, physicality hardly mattered. But now it’s putting him on the losing side.
“You wish.” Vox chuckles at the squirming, finding it endearing that Alastor can’t push him off. Plus, now he has the perfect opportunity to go back on his word. His free hand darts back up to Alastor’s underarm, slipping just one claw beneath the sleeve and returning to tickle the bare skin of his armpit.
“V-Vox!” Alastor chokes out, dissolving into laughter the second that sharp point lands back on his skin.
“There we go! You’re so ticklish, Al, it’s hilarious.” Vox’s laugh joins Alastor’s, wiggling the tip of that single claw into the hollow of his armpit. The squirming and bucking of the man beneath him is exciting.
This is… fun.
The blush is rising up onto Alastor’s cheeks again as he struggles against Vox’s grasp, kicking his legs out and trying to twist his torso this way and that. “Y-you wihihill- regret this, Vohohox!”
Vox scoffs playfully, even letting go of Alastor’s wrists entirely and releasing him. His knees straddle his hips, both hands coming down to torment both of his armpits at once. “Go on, then. Try to stop me.” His claws poke poke poke at the very top of his ribs.
Alastor’s hands fly down to Vox’s wrists, trying to shove them away. Giggles keep bubbling from his throat as he squirms on the bed, feeling the heat of the blush spreading all across his cheeks.
Vox’s arms only allow the shove to take the opportunity to land on his stomach instead. “Oh, you want me to tickle you here instead? Got it!” His fingers dip under the hem of his shirt and start skittering the tips along his lower belly.
“Y-yohohou absolute nuisance!” Alastor growls out between laughter, continuing to shove and push at Vox’s wrists to no avail.
As much as he hates to admit it… it’s not the worst thing Vox has done this whole weekend.
It’s slightly entertaining.
Vox’s fingers don’t let up, exploring the spot just below his ribs. “Quit being such a brat and wear the clothes I picked. Then I’ll stop.” Poke poke poke. “Or I can tickle you for the rest of the day. Your choice.”
Even though there is a tiny, unreasonable part of Alastor enjoying the torment, he isn't willing to let Vox find out about that little tidbit. Better to cut it short.
“F-fihihine! I will wear them!” Alastor finally gives in with a final, forceful push against Vox’s wrists. Thank goodness.
Vox allows his hands to fall away, watching Alastor’s chest heave for air beneath him. His face has that dusting of pink and his ears are twitching.
Holy shit, he looks amazing like this.
Vox wouldn’t mind seeing him look like this every day.
Vox’s claws twitch with the thought, reaching down and snagging the gray sweatpants once again. “I knew you’d come around.” Without struggle from the other man this time, Vox yanks the sweatpants up onto Alastor’s waist, following with sliding his hooves into the pair of fuzzy slippers.
Seeing Alastor in clothing so painfully casual and meant for lounging is something Vox has never seen before, and it’s even more endearing than he could’ve imagined.
Alastor lets himself be dressed like a child with a roll of his eyes, but accepts his fate this time. He glances up at Vox hovering over him, spotting that silly cyan color flooding onto his screen.
Alastor’s eyes narrow playfully and his static rises in pitch, giving a small struggle beneath the other man’s legs. “You are still on top of me, Vincent.”
Vox is snapped out of his longing thoughts at Alastor’s voice, scrambling off to sit on the side of the bed instead. “Oh, right, yeah.” He clears his throat, steadying his own thoughts again.
Right, there’s still plans for the rest of the day. And now Alastor all cozied up and ready for the first thing on today’s list.
“Alright. Come on, then, I’ve got just the thing.” Vox nearly reaches his hand out to grab Alastor’s, but stops himself at the last second and simply pushes himself up to stand instead. He has the perfect idea.