Chapter Text
Vox had never considered himself a romantic.
Sure, he knew how to schmooze, how to turn on the charm when the situation called for it, and even how to hypnotize his way through if he really wanted something. But grand gestures of affection? Sappy declarations of love? Candlelit dinners? That wasn’t his style. Or at least, it hadn’t been.
His relationship with Valentino — if you could even call it that — had always been more primal than sentimental. They were officially together for the public eye, sure, but that didn’t stop Valentino from regularly screwing around with his whores, particularly one that Vox still couldn’t stand. Their dynamic was built on two simple things: fucking and the occasional demand for expensive gifts or a night out. Nothing romantic about it, but Vox had never felt like he was missing anything, either. They just weren’t that kind of couple. They fought as much as they fucked, at least until Vox officially ended things with the moth. Now, they just fought. They were still business partners, maybe even friends, if Vox wanted to be generous. But that was it.
Then Alastor crashed back into his life, quite literally, and things had changed. Vox had found him bloodied and half-dead after the failed Extermination — arrogant bastard, thinking he was untouchable — forcing Vox into the reluctant role of savior. He’d taken him in, against his better judgment, because killing someone who wasn’t his victory didn’t sit right with him. At least, that’s what he told himself, along with it being a matter of pride. He kept repeating this to himself during the first few months until it felt like a hollow excuse, even to him. Yeah, sure. As if letting Alastor die had ever been a real option.
What started as a temporary arrangement — letting Alastor recover in V-Tower, keeping his presence a secret until he regained his strength — somehow evolved into something… more complicated.
Oh, who was he kidding? A lot more complicated.
Being forced to cohabitate meant being forced to talk. Being forced to talk meant understanding each other in ways neither had been prepared for, leading the tension between them to stop being just tension. It became something more, something neither wanted to acknowledge nor was brave enough to name.
Now, nearly a year later, they were… something. Friends? That would be a stretch. It wasn’t like it used to be back in the day, but it also wasn’t like it had been after Alastor’s return. Frenemies with benefits? Also inaccurate, since there hadn’t been any “benefits” yet — not even a damn kiss. Old friends-turned-rivals turned codependent disasters hellbent on annoying the ever-loving shit out of each other while secretly enjoying every second of it, yet incapable of functioning without the other’s constant attention? That was more like it.
Alastor was the reason Vox had ended things with Valentino in the first place, even if he’d never admitted it outright — not to Valentino, not to Alastor, not even to himself for the longest time. Not that he needed to. Valentino wasn't as foolish as he liked to pretend, especially regarding matters that concerned him, and Vox was fairly certain he knew.
He and Alastor weren’t dating; that much was obvious. But they also weren’t not dating, because, to him, it sometimes felt like they might as well be, given how much time they were spending together now. It was… confusing, and therein lay the problem.
Vox wanted more.
He was tired of the in-between. Sue him, but for once in his life, he wanted something real. And somehow, Alastor — the one person in all of Hell who might care even less about romance than he did — had made all that sappy couple shit he used to scoff at seem… appealing.
For weeks, he debated how to bring it up — how to bridge the gap between whatever-the-fuck-this-was and something tangible. The determination was there, but the idea of actually saying it? Yeah, that was another thing entirely. He remembered the last time he tried confessing, back when things had been different but somehow felt the same. That rejection still stung. But things were different now. They were different now. He had Alastor back, something he never thought would happen, and fate felt like it was finally on his side. Maybe this time, things would go his way, and he’d get his answer so that he could either finally be fucking happy or let it go once and for all.
So tonight, he was doing something about it. Naturally, he settled on the most insane, over-the-top plan possible: wooing the fucking Radio Demon on Valentine’s Day.
It was ridiculous — he knew that. Alastor was the one person who probably cared even less about that holiday than he did. But if he was doing this, he was doing it right.
His plan was solid enough. Flowers, chocolates, a home-cooked dinner — he’d considered everything that could be classified as romantic. Days of planning and agonizing over every little detail had gone into this night: cycling through countless flower arrangements before settling on roses, nearly burning down the kitchen trying to cook, hunting down the right chocolates from Cannibal Town (Alastor wasn’t a fan of sweets, but Vox was sure he’d appreciate this particular kind), and even splurging on an expensive whiskey they could share. Hell, he’d even caved and bought those stupidly heart-shaped candles, because fuck it, if he was committing to this, he was going all in.
And the best part? Alastor had no idea what to expect. Sure, he’d invited him over for dinner, and if Alastor kept track of the date and its significance, he might piece together the fact that this was supposed to be a date. But for now, it was still a surprise.
And now here he was, in the kitchen, trying (and failing) not to ruin the Jambalaya. Turns out cooking was a bitch when you were used to fast food and takeout, and that this particular dish required actual cooking skills, something Vox sorely lacked. But it was Alastor’s favorite, so there was no other fucking option. If only the damn oven mitt would stop catching on fire, damn it!
This was, of course, exactly the moment Valentino decided to show up. Vox barely had time to turn before the moth demon strolled into his apartment like he owned the place — which, in his mind, he probably still did — shoulders loose, his smirk lazy and confident.
“Damn, baby,” he drawled from the doorway, amusement dripping from every word. “Ain’t this a surprise?”
Vox stiffened, gripping the wooden spoon in his hand like a weapon. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. Exactly the one person he didn’t need right now.
He exhaled heavily and glanced over his shoulder, already regretting it. Valentino leaned against the doorframe, his glasses lowered just enough to reveal the glint in his eyes. He took a slow drag, letting out a puff of pink smoke as he surveyed the setup. His gaze flicked from the flowers to the chocolates, then back to Vox.
“Didn’t know you were such a romantic,” he mused, sauntering inside uninvited.
Vox turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with forced nonchalance. “What do you want, Val?”
“Oh, nothin’ much,” Val said smoothly. “Just wonderin’ what’s got you all busy.” Before Vox could stop him, Valentino was right up against his back, peering over his shoulder. He hummed as he looked at the contents of the pot. “Huh. You cook now? Didn’t know you could.”
“I don’t,” Vox muttered, scowling at the Jambalaya like it had personally wronged him by insulting VoxTek.
“Aw, don’t be like that, amorcito,” Valentino purred, draping one of his arms over Vox’s shoulders in that familiar, possessive way. Another hand trailed lightly down his arm, teasing at the fabric of his sleeve. “You shoulda told me you had somethin’ special planned. I woulda worn somethin’ real nice for ya. Maybe somethin’ easy to take off.”
Vox blinked, his brain stalling for a second as he struggled to process what he just heard. “Wha—?”
Valentino leaned in, his breath ghosting warmly against the frame of his screen. “Didn't know you had a romantic side, but I like it,” he said with a soft hum of approval. His hands slid lower, coming dangerously close to Vox’s crotch. “If you wanted to spoil me, you shoulda just said so, baby.”
Vox’s brain finally caught up, and— oh, for fuck’s sake.
He jerked away from Valentino’s grasp, holding up a hand as if physically pushing the assumption out of the air. “Wait, you think— Val, this is not for you.”
Valentino tilted his head, lips curling in amusement. “Who the hell else would it be for?”
“I’m serious,” Vox said, exasperation creeping into his voice.
Valentino just laughed, shaking his head. “C’mon, Papi, don’t be shy about it.” He stepped away from Vox, trailing his fingers across the countertop instead. He picked up the whiskey bottle, turned it over in his hands, and inspected the label with an approving hum. “Damn. Fancy booze. Chocolates. Even flowers. Real classy.” He whistled. “You’re really pullin’ out all the stops, huh? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You always did love spoilin’ me, baby.”
Vox let out a slow breath, closing his eyes for half a second. Here we fucking go.
The moth turned the bottle in his hands, taking his time inspecting it. Meanwhile, his free set of arms slid around Vox’s waist again like he belonged there. “Gotta say, I like this side of you,” he murmured. “Didn’t peg you for the romance type, but it’s kinda hot. You shoulda just told me we were doin’ somethin’ tonight. I wouldn’t have made other plans.”
Okay. That was it. This kind of attitude was exactly the reason Vox had been eager to end things between them once another opportunity presented itself — that sheer, unfiltered audacity.
He laughed humorlessly as he peeled Valentino’s hands off him— again. “Holy shit, I knew you were self-absorbed, but this? This is next-level.”
The good mood evaporated from Valentino’s face, and his smirk thinned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Vox said, snatching the whiskey bottle back and waving it provocatively in his face, “that this isn’t for you.”
For a second, there was nothing but silence. Then, Valentino blinked, chuckling softly, shaking his head. “Pff— hah! Alright, alright, you had me for a second. Real funny, baby.”
Vox tilted his head. “I'm not joking.”
Valentino stared at him, cigarette frozen mid-air. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“Nope.”
Another pause. Then, something in Valentino’s expression shifted. The amusement drained just slightly, the corners of his mouth tightening as the gears in his head finally started turning. His gaze flicked back to the setup, then to Vox. Then back to the setup.
“…Wait. Then who the fuck—?”
Vox smirked, watching the realization dawn in real-time, following his facial expressions as his ego took the hit. It was honestly kind of pathetic how long it took.
“No. No way.” Valentino laughed again, but it was stiffer this time. “You expect me to believe you went through all this trouble for that—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose. “For him?”
Vox’s smirk stretched wider. “That a problem?”
Valentino’s fingers tightened around his cigarette, nearly snapping it in half. His whole body tensed, his usual air of smug confidence turning brittle. “Yes, it fucking is!”
Vox lived for it. He leaned in slightly, just enough to twist the knife. “You do remember we’re not together anymore, right? I don’t have to do shit for you.”
For some reason, this felt like payback. Like some small, satisfying retribution for all the times he had been the one waiting after making reservations in expensive restaurants on Val’s wish just to be left hanging because he was too busy screwing his favorite whore to show up.
“Alastor.” Valentino spat the name like it burned. “You’re doin’ all this for the fuckin’ Radio Demon?”
“Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” Vox sing-songed, accompanied by a slot machine winning sound effect, clearly enjoying this far more than he should.
Valentino’s lips curled in distaste, but he forced a sneer. “Well, ain’t that adorable? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised — he does have a thing for outdated tech, after all.”
Vox tsked, waving him off. “Stop being jealous and get the fuck out of my way, I’ve got shit to do.”
Valentino’s eye twitched. Vox knew how much he hated being dismissed like that. For a moment, it looked like he might actually do something about it — lunging at Vox, for example, but then he exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back and smoothing his expression into that same careless mask.
“Well, you do you, babe,” he said, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “But don’t come cryin’ to me when that bastard turns you down and dumps you like he did last time.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out, his wings trailing dramatically behind him.
Vox narrowed his eyes, watching him go. That was almost too easy.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding once Valentino was gone and shook his head. “Still a drama queen.”
Turning back to his cooking, he rolled his shoulders, forcing the tension out. If Val wanted to be bitter, that was his problem. Tonight wasn’t about him, and he wasn’t about to let that little encounter ruin his mood.
Tonight was about Alastor, and if everything went according to plan, it would be the night that changed everything. For the better, hopefully. His planning was flawless, and his preparations were meticulous. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
…Right?
꧁🎔꧂
Wrong.
Turns out, a lot could go wrong.
First things first, Vox didn’t do stress. Stress was for people who didn’t have their shit together, and if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was control. Control over his brand. Control over his tower. Control over his image.
So why the hell was he pacing his kitchen like some lovesick fool about to have a breakdown over a pot of Jambalaya?
This was his second attempt at getting it right, and while it seemed decent enough, it still looked like a crime scene in a bowl. The mere fact that he was cooking it — actually cooking it — was absurd enough. He didn’t even fucking like Jambalaya. Vox exhaled sharply, glaring down at the recipe on his phone, scanning each step again. How hard could it be? Chop the vegetables, cook the sausage, throw everything into the pot, and let the magic happen. He’d had his minions prepare Michelin-star meals before — surely, he could handle one stupid dish.
Except this wasn’t just any dish. This was Alastor’s favorite, which meant he had to get it right. That thought alone made his grip tighten around the spoon in his hand. His eyes flicked back to the pot, steam curling from the surface of the simmering Jambalaya. It still didn’t look quite right, but glancing at his watch told him there wasn’t enough time to start over — not when he still had to get changed.
Shit!
He nearly dropped the spoon as panic crawled up his spine. He was wasting too much time. What if Alastor showed up early? What if he walked in before Vox had the chance to prepare accordingly?
He shook his head, scowling down at his meal. No, that wouldn’t happen. Alastor didn’t do early. He sometimes didn’t even do on time if the company didn’t suit him. But what if this was one of those times?
Vox exhaled sharply, setting the spoon down with more force than necessary. The Jambalaya would have to suffice. He needed to get ready first. Without another second of hesitation, he spun on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, heart pounding.
If things weren't absolutely perfect, he had a feeling that he would fuck it up before he even had a chance to start.
꧁🎔꧂
Vox prided himself on being calm, composed, and always in control.
Right now, he was none of those things.
He surveyed his work in the dining room for the hundredth time. The table was set with a black-and-red tablecloth, gold-rimmed plates, and polished silverware — the best of everything he had. Candlelight flickered across the space, casting warm, intimate shadows. Vox knew Alastor preferred this kind of lighting over his usual artificial neon glow. And the final touch? A soft jazz tune playing in the background, just enough to set the mood without overpowering the conversation.
It was perfect. Or at least, it would be — so long as nothing went wrong.
Yet, he was pacing around. Again. Checking everything. Again. Adjusting the flowers, straightening the tablecloth, frowning at the flickering candlelight, then frowning at himself for frowning at candlelight like some neurotic idiot. Another glance at his watch told him it could be any minute now.
He smoothed down his clothes, exhaled, and tried to shake off the nerves crawling up his spine. He was fine. This was fine. Everything was fine.
Before he could rethink his life choices, a sudden knock at the door startled him out of his frantic pacing. Right. He had programmed his security systems to always allow Alastor entry without alarming him if he decided to pay him an unexpected visit. Still, the sound startled him, cutting through the noise of his spiraling thoughts.
He took a second to collect himself before grabbing the bouquet of roses he’d picked out, before striding over to the door and pulling it open with his biggest grin.
“Welcome, my deer,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe in a way he hoped looked smooth — like this was just another night and not the single most important dinner of his afterlife.
Alastor smiled at him, that ever-present grin stretching across his face. “Good evening, mon cher! I have to say that I was quite intrigued by your invitation! You never summoned me over with such mystery in the past!” He stepped inside without waiting for an answer, his eyes flicking around the apartment for a moment, before he focused back on Vox, but the moment his eyes traveled down, he came to an abrupt halt.
For a solid few seconds, he just stared. His gaze dragged from Vox’s smug expression, down to his jacket, pausing noticeably at his completely exposed chest, then flicking back up, eyebrows creeping higher with every passing moment.
“…Didn't you intend to wear clothes tonight, my dear?” Alastor finally asked, tilting his head in apparent confusion.
Vox blinked, but collected himself quickly and smirked at him. “Oh? If you wanted me to strip, you could’ve just said so,” he teased, shifting his stance so the jacket pulled back even further, showing off his tits. “Didn’t know you were so eager, Al.”
Alastor’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he only looked more baffled. “Excuse you?”
Vox chuckled, taking a step closer. “I mean, I get it. I do look hot.” He ran a claw down his chest with a lazy grin, his eyes glinting playfully. “Though, you could at least let me serve dinner first, and then I promise I’ll put on a show for you.”
Alastor blinked at him. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted down to Vox’s jacket again, that poor button barely holding it together, when realization dawned in his expression.
“…Did no one put any effort into raising you properly, or are you simply choosing to be like... this?” Alastor finally asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
Vox’s grin faltered, and he quickly straightened his posture. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Alastor gestured vaguely at him. “That,” he said. “Your clothing. The... ah — bold choice. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something a little more decent? Something proper?”
Vox’s grin froze in place, and internally, he screamed.
Oh. Oh no.
This wasn’t flirting. Alastor wasn’t making some bold move. He was genuinely asking if Vox could put on more clothes. That had never happened before. Usually, his dates begged him to take them off, and it couldn’t happen soon enough.
A creeping sense of horror curled up his spine as the weight of what just happened fully settled in. He had misread that. He had misread that so badly.
“…You’re serious,” he said flatly.
“What gave you the impression that I'm not?”
Vox’s whole body tensed. He forced himself to keep his cool, but inside? Inside, he was dying. The first couple of seconds into the night, and he already fucked up.
“…Right.” He cleared his throat, forcing an easygoing shrug. “I, uh, guess I could… put on a shirt.”
“Splendid!” Alastor beamed, seemingly unaware of the sheer amount of secondhand embarrassment he had just inflicted. Or he just didn't care. “A dinner like this deserves the proper attire, after all!”
Vox wanted to crawl into a hole. He pouted slightly, crossing his arms. “I put a lot of effort into this, y’know.”
“Oh, I can tell, be assured, old pal,” Alastor smirked, tilting his head. “But it would be a shame to let such a lovely dinner go to waste, just because you insist on dressing like a harlot.”
Vox pouted even more at that, clearly resisting the urge to argue. He had spent a stupid amount of time picking out this look, and hearing Alastor’s immediate judgment was not exactly the start to the night he’d envisioned. But… he also didn’t want to fuck things up before they even started.
With a begrudging sigh, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll change.”
Before he could go, though, Alastor’s eyes flicked to the hand Vox had been keeping behind his back. “Now, what are you hiding behind your back?”
Vox froze, only now realizing how conspicuously he’d been standing with the bouquet still clutched there. He hesitated, then, with a sudden, almost aggressive motion, he shoved the roses at Alastor, narrowly avoiding smacking him in the face.
Alastor blinked, momentarily caught off guard, eyes flicking between Vox and the flowers. Surprise flashed across his features before he took them. “For me? Well, isn’t that thoughtful!” He twirled one between his fingers before bringing it to his nose. “They do smell delightful. I appreciate the gesture, old friend!”
Vox exhaled, relieved — until Alastor added, “Black roses, huh? Depending on the culture, they’re a symbol of death, if I remember correctly.” He stopped, narrowing his eyes playfully. “You aren’t plotting my demise, are you?”
Vox blinked, genuinely taken aback for a second. “They’re... they’re red.”
“Oh, are they?” Alastor asked, turning them in his hands as if that would somehow change what he saw. “I suppose it’s hard for me to tell.”
Vox froze, remembering Alastor’s partial color blindness. He felt like an idiot. It seemed so natural to choose red roses since he had always considered them the most romantic of flowers, symbolizing passion and all that, but he completely forgot about Alastor's inability to see red.
He panicked, quickly trying to take them back, scrambling to fix his mistake. “Know what? Just forget about them!”
Alastor dodged with effortless grace, clutching the bouquet to his chest. “No, you got them for me, so I’m keeping them. It would be rude to refuse a gift.” A playful glint flickered in his eyes as he examined the petals. “Though, I must say, red roses are an odd choice, too. They’re traditionally romantic, did you know?”
Vox gave him a flat look. “Yeah, Al. I know.”
Alastor smiled, completely missing the point. “Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it? Now, would you be so kind as to get changed?”
Vox stared, utterly flabbergasted. He barely resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearest surface. He grumbled something under his breath before turning on his heel. “Gimme a minute,” he muttered. “And don’t touch anything!”
Alastor just chuckled, watching him go, before glancing back at the flowers with a pleased hum. He waited patiently for Vox to return, now wearing a white shirt beneath his jacket, and let himself be led toward the dining area.
“My, my! You’ve really outdone yourself, haven’t you?” He gestured toward the table, his eyes flicking over the warm glow of candlelight, the carefully arranged plates, the neatly placed flowers, and the expensive box of chocolates. “Such a charming setup. You do know how to make a man feel special!”
Vox felt his chest swell with hope for a second— he gets it, he sees what this is — only for that hope to be unceremoniously crushed by what came next.
“Are we celebrating something? I must say, the invitation was quite spontaneous! Not that I mind, of course. It’s always pleasant to spend a lovely evening in the company of a dear friend, isn’t it?”
Vox stared at him, waiting, hoping, praying for some sign that Alastor was messing with him. That he was dragging this out just to get a rise out of him, because that’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do.
But no. Nothing.
“Are… are you serious?” Vox finally asked, unable to mask the disbelief in his voice.
Alastor chuckled, utterly unbothered. “Quite! I must admit, I almost expected you to want something from me — why else invite me over for such a formal dinner? But I must say, I’m delightfully surprised!”
Vox stiffened, and his first instinct was to blurt out, You don’t know what day it is? Because, seriously — he had been under the impression that Alastor accepting his dinner invite for Valentine’s Day already meant something.
But under these circumstances?
… He may have miscalculated.
Biting back his initial reaction, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to recover. One mistake was enough for the start of the evening — no need to rush into another. “It is a special occasion,” he said instead, choosing his words carefully.
Alastor sat down with his usual effortless grace. “Well, whatever the reason, I certainly appreciate the effort! It’s been ages since I’ve received such a delightfully personal invitation for dinner from you.”
Vox stared at him. Then, at the table. Then back at him.
This had to be a joke.
Alastor met his gaze, still smiling, still wholly unfazed.
It was not a joke.
Vox swallowed, forcing a smile back onto his face. “Hah. Yeah. Thought you’d, uh… appreciate that.” He sat across from Alastor, trying to will himself back into control. Fine. He’s oblivious. I can work with this.
Alastor inhaled deeply over the steaming Jambalaya, his grin widening. “You made Jambalaya? Now, this is a rare treat. I didn’t know you could cook.” He turned a skeptical look on Vox, one brow arched. “Or should I be bracing myself for a sudden and violent case of food poisoning?”
Vox bristled, suddenly self-conscious all over again about the damn dish. “I can follow a recipe, Al.”
Alastor laughed. “Well, color me impressed. Given your usual diet of processed junk and caffeine, I never thought you had the patience to stand over a stove! You could burn water!” He plucked a flower from the table decoration, twirling it idly between his fingers before flashing Vox an amused look. “This is quite the effort! You truly spoil me, my dear.”
Vox scowled, resting his equivalent of a chin on his hand. “It was.” He tilted his head, watching him closely. “I don’t cook for just anyone, y’know.”
Alastor hummed, clearly delighted. “How charming! It must have been quite some work for someone with your limited skills.” He took a spoonful of the dish, tasting it with a slow, thoughtful chew, pausing to consider the flavor, his eyes narrowing slightly before glancing up at Vox, who was visibly squirming under the weight of anticipated judgment. “…It’s not bad. Not as good as mine, of course, but it’s edible! A relief, really — I would have hated to waste good Jambalaya.”
Vox immediately felt offended, and his eye twitched. He knew Alastor would never outright praise it, but damn it, he had spent the entire afternoon trying to make sure it turned out at least decent. “Excuse me? I spent all day preparing this just for you, you ungrateful prick.” He barely stopped himself from pouting.
“I’ll take that as a compliment to my culinary tastes,” Alastor said, taking another bite. When Vox didn’t immediately follow suit, he lowered his fork. “Oh, don’t look so wounded, darling! Given your usual eating habits, this is a commendable effort.”
Vox huffed, crossing his arms. “Gee. Thanks.” He was still mildly offended but ultimately decided to let it go — picking a fight over this wouldn’t be smart, even if he really wanted to. Instead, he redirected the conversation, shifting the focus back to what actually mattered.
“Well, this day is meant for people to put in effort — to show someone special how much they mean to them.” He tilted his head slightly, watching for a reaction. “Only someone important deserves this kind of treatment.”
Alastor, still entirely unfazed, simply nodded. “Quite the effort indeed!”
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment, and while Vox should have appreciated that — hell, the food actually tasted better than he anticipated — it still wasn’t what he had planned. He refused to let this stand as “a charming dinner between friends” when he had put so much effort into the whole thing.
He cleared his throat as the silence shifted from a comfortable companionship to an uncomfortable tension. Adopting an air of practiced nonchalance, he asked, “So, do you really not know what day it is, or are you just messing with me?”
Alastor, mid-bite, blinked at him. “Why, it’s Thursday, my dear. Why do you ask?”
Vox’s eye twitched. “Actually, it’s Friday.”
Alastor chewed thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Ah, well. The days do tend to blur together sometimes, don’t they? I fail to see how this is important.”
Vox was only a little desperate. “That’s not even the poin—” He cut himself off, inhaled sharply, and exhaled through gritted teeth. Stay calm. “…It’s Valentine’s Day, Al.”
Alastor blinked, tilting his head as if processing the information.
“Oh, is it?” He hummed, tapping a clawed finger against the table. “Well, that would explain all those gaudy decorations at the hotel! I assumed it was another one of Charlie’s little projects — like those ridiculous Sinsmas events. So tacky! ” He let out an amused chuckle, shaking his head before glancing back at the meticulously arranged table. “And yet, you choose to spend it with me? What a shame, really! Surely these marvelous efforts of yours could have been put to better use wooing some ‘lucky’ lady into that bed of yours.”
Vox stared at him. Just stared. He wanted to scream.
Nothing was going according to plan.
Still entirely unfazed, Alastor took a sip of the whiskey, humming in satisfaction. “Oh, this is divine! Though lacking in other regards, you do have impeccable taste in spirits. You must let me know where you acquired this.”
Vox gripped his glass a little too tightly. “I bought it. For you.”
“Oh, how thoughtful!” Alastor beamed, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “But I believe this doesn’t answer my question, my dear picture box.”
Vox took a slow, steadying breath, his fans whirring a little louder as he forced himself to stay calm. Alastor's lack of appreciation for all his efforts was one thing, but the worst part was that he couldn’t tell whether he was being willfully obtuse or genuinely didn’t get it. Because with Alastor, either was possible.
“So, uh. Y’know, usually Valentine’s Day is for, like… couples. It’s kind of a big deal.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose that’s true,” Alastor mused, twirling his fork between his fingers. “A rather commercialized affair, though, isn’t it? I imagine the chocolate industry is thriving! I’ve never quite understood it, honestly. Why pick one day? Shouldn’t you be romantic all the time with your partner?”
Vox latched onto that immediately. “Exactly! And that’s why this isn’t just about the holiday.” He leaned in slightly, watching him closely. “I mean, sure, it’s Valentine’s Day, but I chose today for a reason.”
Alastor, apparently still not getting it, simply smiled and took another sip of whiskey. “Truly, you are quite the considerate friend!”
Vox choked on his drink.
Friend.
Fucking friend?!
He set his glass down with more force than necessary. “Right. I’m a very considerate ‘friend,’ aren’t I?”
Alastor, seemingly oblivious to his internal suffering, set down his cutlery and gestured toward the box of chocolates. “Speaking of, are these for me as well?”
Vox let out a slow, suffering sigh. “Yes, Al. The expensive chocolates, the home-cooked meal, the candlelight, the whiskey — all for you.”
Alastor popped a chocolate into his mouth and hummed. “My, my! You do know how to make a fellow feel special!”
Vox dragged a hand down his screen.
He must be doing this on purpose, right?
His other hand clenched around his fork. “Right. And, uh, you do realize a fancy dinner like this is usually… y’know, a romantic thing.”
“Oh, is it?” Alastor blinked innocently, tapping his fork against the rim of his plate. “I suppose that makes sense! All of this would be quite an effective way to deepen a connection and strengthen a bond.”
Vox leaned forward slightly, drumming his claws against the table. “Yeah. Exactly. So…” He gave Alastor a pointed look, practically begging him to put it together.
Alastor kept smiling at him. “I admit, this is one of the nicest meals we’ve had together.”
Vox was seconds away from jumping out of his chair. Instead, he exhaled sharply and decided to try one last time — dropping any pretense of subtlety.
“So, knowing that, would you say this feels like, I don’t know… a date to you?”
Alastor blinked at him, then let out a laugh. “Hm, I suppose so! I imagine this setup would be quite effective in charming someone. Do you have anyone in mind you’d like to try this with?”
Vox stared.
Alastor smiled.
Vox made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Still grinning, Alastor reached for another piece of chocolate, utterly unbothered.
Vox, meanwhile, seriously debated whether his effort in decorations outweighed his desire to flip the entire damn table.
꧁🎔꧂
Vox was trying — really, he was — to enjoy this dinner, even with Alastor’s continued obliviousness, which made him question every single life choice that led him here.
But apparently, his phone had other plans.
The first notification came just as he poured them another round of whiskey. He ignored it, barely glancing at where he’d set his phone earlier. Whatever it was, it could wait. Tonight was far more important.
But it pinged again. And again. And again.
The screen kept lighting up, the constant buzzing rattling against the table until it nearly knocked over his glass. Vox gritted his teeth, snatched up his phone, and shoved it into his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind.
Except the notifications didn’t stop. The vibrations continued, relentless. His grip tightened around his glass, refusing to acknowledge it. Whatever it is, it can wait. He told everyone not to disturb him tonight, unless VoxTek was burning to the ground.
Across the table, Alastor hummed cheerfully, helping himself to more Jambalaya (ah, so it couldn’t be that bad, fucker!), luckily still unaware of the mild crisis unfolding in Vox’s pocket.
Vox, meanwhile, was experiencing mild suffering.
Turns out, ignoring the problem won’t make it stop because his phone still kept going. Vox’s eye twitched.
Fine.
One glance, one second to silence the damn thing, and then he’d be back to his date. He yanked the phone out — and almost dropped it when he saw the notification alerts from his bank account.
[Transaction Alert: $4,000 – High-end leather store]
[Transaction Alert: $6,500 – Luxury fur coats]
[Transaction Alert: $12,000 – Custom gold jewelry]
What the actual fuck—
Just as he started wondering if he’d been hacked, a text message from Valentino popped up.
— Look what I got myself. Don’t you think it would look good on me? 😉
Attached were pictures of an extravagant, uselessly expensive fur coat, along with one of Valentino smirking into the camera like the smug bastard he was.
The phone's casing flexed threateningly under the force of Vox's grip. He couldn't spare a thought to worry about it — barely even had time to inhale — before another message popped up.
— Thank you for all those expensive gifts for Valentine’s Day, Papi. 💋
This time, the attached image showed Valentino blowing him a kiss, and the phone had been angled just enough to include the laptop screen behind him, where a diamond ring with an absurdly high price tag was displayed.
Vox exhaled slowly, praying for more patience. He set his glass down with a little more force than necessary. That smug bastard.
Alastor had noticed his trouble, of course. “Is something the matter, dear?”
Vox startled slightly, forcing his expression back to something neutral. “Nope,” he said quickly, typing a response before stuffing his phone back into his pocket.
— Cut it out, Val. I mean it. That’s my damn money.
He wasn’t about to let Valentino ruin his night. Not this night. “Just a little annoying inconvenience.” He picked up his fork, determined to return to his meal, but the alerts kept coming.
Vox growled, and his left eye started spiraling. He slammed his fork down, grabbed his phone again, and was about to tell Valentino off once and for all — when he saw the latest transaction.
[Transaction Alert: $2,500,000 – Boat store]
A. Fucking. BOAT?!
He quickly opened the chat again, his claws flying over the display when he furiously typed out his response.
— Are you shitting me? Why did you buy a fucking BOAT?! We don’t even have WATER here!
Valentino’s reply came almost instantly.
— If it bothers you so much, come and deal with me yourself 😘
Vox knew what he was doing.
This wasn’t just about spending his money — the only purpose for such a ridiculous purchase like a boat was not indulging on his behalf as payback; it was about baiting him. Valentino wanted him to drop everything and come running, which would either result in the moth throwing a tantrum, them arguing, or Val trying to get into his pants — anything to get his attention.
And worst of all? It would work in Val’s favor. If Vox walked out now, he’d be proving that he couldn’t ignore him, that he’d always be tangled up in his bullshit. And worse — he’d be leaving Alastor sitting here alone, probably pissing him off.
Yeah. Not happening.
Without even dignifying Valentino with a response, Vox switched to his banking app and went straight to his account settings.
[Card Locked. All Transactions Denied.]
There.
Let that be his answer.
Alastor sipped his whiskey, watching Vox with amused curiosity. “Work troubles?”
“Something like that,” Vox muttered, finally about to shove his phone back into his pocket — until more messages started flooding in.
Valentino must’ve noticed his card declining instantly because now, his inbox was blowing up with him raging at Vox.
“This motherfuck—” Vox inhaled sharply, biting off the curse as irritation flared in his chest, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. With a few quick taps, he blocked Valentino’s number. Finally, blessed silence. Valentino could whine all he wanted — Vox wasn’t letting that bastard ruin his night.
He sighed, rolled his shoulders, forcing the tension to uncoil, and put the phone down for good, reaching for his whiskey instead. His focus should be here, on his date, damn it. The whiskey burned smoothly down his throat, a welcome distraction from the infuriating annoyance.
Focus. This is your date. Not Val. Alastor.
Only to look up and find Alastor watching him with a strange expression. Greeting him wasn’t the same easy amusement as before. The grin remained, but something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
“So,” Vox started, a little hesitant, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “where were we?”
“My, I haven’t seen you that worked up in quite some time.” Alastor’s voice held its usual lilt, but there was something deliberate in how he mirrored Vox’s motion and slowly turned his own glass between his claws. “Just who has you so distracted, mon cher?”
Vox scowled. “It’s nothing. Nothing to concern yourself with. Just Val, being his usual self.”
That got an interesting reaction.
Not much of one — Alastor was too practiced for that — but Vox knew him long enough to notice the change. There was a subtle tension in his grip, and his fingers hesitated before resuming their rhythmic tapping. His grin remained in place, of course, but there was a noticeable shift in his gaze. “Ah, him. And what, pray tell, is he pestering you about this time?”
Vox’s mood lifted immediately. Oh, now this is interesting.
He took a slow sip of his whiskey, studying Alastor carefully. “Nothing important. He just wants my attention and is pissed about not getting it.”
Alastor hummed, an idle sound, but Vox could hear the slight strain behind it. “Oh, nothing, is it? You mean to say you weren’t just having an entire conversation under the table?”
Vox snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure. I’m totally sexting Val while having dinner with you.”
The joke left his mouth easily, but he barely had time to enjoy it before noticing how Alastor’s fingers tightened around his glass and how the rhythmic tapping had stopped entirely.
Vox paused, then gave him a deadpan look. “Al, I’m joking. Honestly, I’m surprised you even know what that means.”
Alastor scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “One does pick up certain things when living with someone like Angel Dust.”
“Ah, yeah, that tracks.” Vox took another sip, but his amusement faded slightly when Alastor’s mood didn’t lift. After a moment, he sighed, deciding honesty might be better than needlessly needling him. He needed his date to be happy and content, after all. “Val got his hands on my credit card earlier while I was busy. Spent a small fortune on absolute bullshit.”
Alastor clicked his tongue. “How dreadful! I’d say I’m shocked, but that would imply I expected anything better from him.”
That pulled a smirk from Vox. “Yeah, well, I shut that shit down. Locked my card and blocked his number.” He leaned forward slightly, tilting his head, making sure to lock eyes with the deer demon. “Not gonna let him distract me from what’s important.”
Alastor’s smile thinned. “And yet, he already has, hasn’t he?”
Vox leaned back again, crossing his arms. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he protested, trying to underline his earlier subtle statement.
Alastor studied him for a moment longer than necessary. Then, with a casualness that didn’t quite match the slight tightness in his voice, he said, “My, he really doesn’t like being replaced, does he?”
Vox blinked. Oh.
The moment he pieced it together, his grin spread impossibly wide. “Wait… are you jealous? ” He rested the bottom of his screen on his hand, enjoying this far too much. “Looks like someone’s feeling possessive tonight.”
“Nonsense!” Alastor scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t be ridiculous! I simply detest interruptions during a lovely meal.”
Vox tilted his head, studying him. He knew Alastor well enough to recognize when something got under his skin — when the faint static in his aura grew a little louder, when his fingers twitched just a bit too nervously.
“Uh-huh,” Vox said, stretching the syllables, his grin widening. “Sure.”
Alastor gave him a sharp, almost challenging look. “Don’t flatter yourself, darling. If anything, I pity you for ever indulging that creature.”
Vox shrugged. “Can’t argue with you there.”
That answer seemed to please Alastor. He took another sip of whiskey, his good mood seemingly restored, the tension in his posture unraveling.
Vox reclined in his chair, draping one arm over the backrest, still watching him with amusement. Oh, this is fun.
If Alastor really was jealous of Val, that could only mean good things for him.
He smelled an opportunity — one he wasn’t about to let slip away.
“Maybe you should consider,” he mused, lowering his eyes, “why Val sees you as such a big threat.”
Alastor took another bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. Then, without missing a beat, he said, “Well, of course he does! He should. I am threatening, and I could easily kill him if I so desired. So, really, it only makes sense.”
And the moment was officially ruined. Vox stared at him.
That was it. That was when he officially decided that getting Alastor to catch on to anything regarding flirting was a hopeless cause.
But… even if Alastor was oblivious, the fact remained: if he truly didn’t care, he wouldn’t have been jealous. He wouldn’t have felt the need to ask for clarification.
He liked this.
He liked knowing Valentino was losing. That the moth wasn’t in the picture anymore.
And Vox? Vox liked seeing that little spark of possessiveness in Alastor’s eyes.
Maybe his plans for tonight weren’t entirely ruined after all.
꧁🎔꧂
All things considered, the dinner had gone surprisingly well — despite Valentino’s pathetic attempts to sabotage the night and Alastor not catching on to Vox’s intentions at all.
Still, it could have been worse. Vox’s mind sure as hell had imagined enough worst-case scenarios before the date even began. But hey, at least the food he worried about so much had turned out decent.
And then there was that revelation. The one that sent a pleasant hum through his circuits. Alastor, the ever-unshakable, effortlessly composed Radio Demon, had been jealous, even if only a little.
Vox smirked to himself, feeling victorious as he cleared the table, his confidence swelling with every step. If that wasn’t a good sign, he didn’t know what was. Maybe this might actually work out in his favor.
Now, it was time for dessert, and, more importantly, the gift. His last shot at making his intentions crystal clear. Vox reached for the small box he had hidden earlier, and he hated that his fingers trembled slightly. He knew it was ridiculous, how nervous he felt, but this gift meant something. It wasn’t a proposal — obviously not, this was just their first date — but it was a ring. A carefully chosen, very expensive ring. Something that said: This is real. This is serious. I want you.
If Alastor didn’t catch on after this, then there was no saving him.
Taking a steadying breath, Vox straightened his posture before returning to the dining room. Alastor was already waiting, humming a little tune, his eyes flicking up with curiosity as Vox approached.
“Before dessert,” Vox started, gripping the box a little too tightly behind his back, “I got something for you.”
This could either be a really good idea or an absolutely terrible one. It all depended on how Alastor perceived the gift.
For now, he seemed delighted, his grin widening. “Oh? A gift? How thoughtful! My, you really are putting a lot of effort into making this evening pleasant!”
Vox ignored the heat creeping onto his screen as he pulled the box from behind his back and handed it over. “Just open it, wiseass.”
Alastor wasted no time, eagerly tearing into the wrapping before flipping the little box open—
—and Vox’s heart stuttered for a few beats before starting to race.
That was not the ring he had bought.
Instead of the beautiful, handpicked piece of jewelry tailored to Alastor’s aesthetic, an entirely different kind of ring sat nestled in the velvet interior.
A cock ring. A metal-banded, completely inappropriate, obscenely out-of-place cock ring.
Not even one of his good or pretty ones. Just the ugliest, plainest, cheapest piece of shit he owned.
The world screeched to a halt, and Vox felt like he was about to short-circuit.
Alastor blinked down at it, tilting the box slightly as if examining it from different angles. He hadn’t said anything yet, which somehow made everything so much worse.
If Vox was lucky, Alastor would think this was some kind of stupid, inappropriate joke, would insult him for it, and then laugh it off. If he wasn’t, and Alastor didn’t see humor in it, Vox might risk losing a few limbs — if Alastor felt merciful enough to stop there.
Internally, Vox was screaming. Externally, he was rapidly approaching the same.
“Ah,” Alastor finally said thoughtfully, tilting his head. “This is… quite an interesting gift.”
Vox’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Then, he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
How the fuck did this happen?
Even if he wanted to explain, to assure Alastor that this was not his intention and that he wasn’t trying to mess with him, he couldn’t find the words. The truth was, he had no idea how that thing had ended up there in the first place.
Except — of fucking course! Valentino! That prick must’ve switched it out earlier while Vox had been stressing over dinner. That bastard had planted it there, just to fuck with him. Another low blow in his ongoing campaign to ruin this date.
Vox was so going to murder him.
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the existential crisis unfolding before him, Alastor plucked the thing from the box, holding it delicately between two fingers.
“A rather unusual design choice for a ring… and quite an awkward size, too…”
As Alastor attempted to slide it onto his ring finger, Vox barely suppressed the urge to rip it out of his hands. It didn’t fit, obviously. Undeterred, Alastor tried his index finger next. No luck.
Vox wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or scream or die. Or all of that, in exactly that order.
Alastor squinted at it. “What kind of strange ring is this, exactly?”
While all of his systems screamed Abort! Abort! Abort! at him, he still managed to force out the fakest, most unnatural laugh of his life while shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. “It’s— uh— it’s— well. Just… you know. A ring.”
He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved that Alastor didn’t recognize what it was or if that made the situation infinitely worse. If he explained now, he’d look like an even bigger idiot. For once, he was actually grateful for Alastor’s complete and utter obliviousness when it came to anything remotely sexual.
Alastor hummed, now trying to slide it onto his thumb. Still too big. He then attempted his wrist, only to find that it was too small now. His brows furrowed. “This doesn’t fit anywhere, Vox,” he remarked, visibly annoyed. “Couldn’t you have gotten the correct size?”
Vox swallowed, forcing his mind away from any Alastor’s dick-related images it had started to conjure up. Getting a boner right in front of him now sure was the last thing he needed at this moment. His screen definitely felt hot now.
There were a million things he wanted to say, but none of them sounded remotely intelligent in his head, so instead, he just nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I, uh— must’ve grabbed the wrong size. My bad.”
Alastor tsked. “Maybe you should’ve asked for my size first, dear?” He twirled the ring between his fingers. “Ah, well. Still a lovely thought, I suppose.”
He glanced at Vox, noticing how uneasy he appeared. Apparently, he must have misinterpreted something in his gaze because, before Vox could even open his mouth to stop him, he reached up and looped the damn thing onto one of his antlers.
Vox stared in horror, and the last remnants of his already broken poker face slipped away. “Al, no—”
Alastor smiled innocently. “There! A charming little decoration, don’t you think?”
Vox felt as if his soul were leaving his body.
The one fucking time he wanted Alastor to be a jerk about a gift. The one time he would’ve welcomed a rejection. Vox would’ve gladly taken it back, discreetly gotten rid of it, and never spoken about it again.
But no.
Now, he couldn’t even tell him to take it off, because, obviously, Alastor had only put it there to avoid hurting his feelings in the first place.
So, here he was now, watching his date sit there completely unfazed, casually enjoying his dessert with a literal cock ring dangling from his antler.
Valentino was so going to pay for this.
꧁🎔꧂
Somehow, against all odds, Vox made it through dessert. How, exactly, remained a mystery.
It was a miracle, really.
He had kept his expression neutral — mostly — and forced himself to maintain the casual conversation, despite the absolute madness of sitting across from Alastor, still utterly oblivious, while a cock ring dangled from his antler.
It had been almost impossible to follow their conversation at times. Every time Vox tried to look away, his gaze inevitably snapped back to the damn thing. Every slight movement from Alastor made it sway, and every time Vox took a sip of his drink, he had to physically restrain himself from choking. The sheer absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle.
Yet, somehow, miraculously, he made it through. After clearing the table and hastily throwing the dirty dishes somewhere they wouldn’t bother them, he grabbed the bottle of expensive whiskey along with their glasses and motioned for Alastor to follow him to the couch.
“C’mon,” Vox said, already pouring. “We’re watching something. I got a movie you might enjoy.”
Alastor gave an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, yes, television! What a riveting activity,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Please tell me you’ve finally developed some taste.” Despite his grumbling, he followed Vox over to the couch.
Vox scoffed, plopping down and handing Alastor his glass. “You wound me. I’ve always had taste.”
Alastor made a dubious noise as he took a seat, swirling the whiskey. “Let me be the judge of that, darling.”
Vox rolled his eyes but smirked. “You like horror, don’t you?”
Alastor’s ears twitched, intrigued. “I do appreciate a good bit of bloodshed… If you’ve chosen wisely, I may even consider this tolerable.”
Vox snorted and started the first movie — a classic horror film from the 1930s. He ensured it had plenty of blood to meet Alastor’s standards.
Despite his usual aversion to modern technology, Alastor seemed invested once the film started. He occasionally commented on the bad effects or complained about the poor acting, but with every passing minute, he visibly relaxed. No, Vox definitely did not pay more attention to him than the movie.
At some point, Vox let himself relax, too. Carefully, he rested an arm on the back of the couch near Alastor’s shoulder — not quite daring to commit to touching him yet, or pull him into his arms, even as their bodies naturally settled into a familiar closeness. It wasn’t like they hadn’t watched movies together before. Even after rekindling their friendship, Vox had managed to drag Alastor into watching a few musicals with him — something he knew they both enjoyed.
But this? This felt different.
For the first time that evening, Vox felt like things were going well, and he almost succeeded in convincing himself that the night hadn’t been a total disaster.
Sure, Alastor had somehow misinterpreted every single romantic hint Vox had thrown his way. And sure, he had to spend an entire dessert sitting across from Alastor while a literal cock ring dangled from his antler.
But at least now, they were enjoying their whiskey, watching a decent horror flick, and, for once, Vox wasn’t actively fighting off the urge to die on the spot.
He’d take it.
At least until, halfway through the movie, someone nearly kicked his fucking door off its hinges. The poor thing rattled under the force of the sudden, aggressive pounding.
Both Vox and Alastor startled, and Vox’s hand instinctively slipped from the couch to Alastor’s shoulder, almost protective, as if pulling him closer was some kind of natural reaction. But the moment he realized what he’d done, he quickly slid his hand away, clearing his throat awkwardly as the other froze beneath the sudden touch.
“VOX, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”
Vox tensed up immediately. Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Alastor, for his part, didn’t seem remotely concerned. In fact, he relaxed again, taking another sip of whiskey, utterly unfazed now that it was clear who the intruder was. If anything, the look he gave Vox silently said, “This is your problem to deal with.”
“My, what lovely company you surround yourself with,” he mused.
Another loud BANG shook the door.
“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, ASSHOLE! DON’T ACT LIKE YOU CAN JUST IGNORE ME!”
Vox muttered a quiet “Watch me” under his breath as he set down his glass and stood.
Alastor raised an eyebrow but stayed put, watching the inevitable drama unfold from the sidelines, comfortably entertained.
Vox stomped over to the door and yanked it open. “What the fuck do you want, Val?”
Valentino stood in the hallway, fuming, looking like he was one second away from exploding.
“Oh, so now you wanna talk?” he snapped. He didn’t wait for an invitation and just shoved past Vox, ranting as he went. “Funny how that works.”
Vox scowled, slamming the door shut behind him. “Not really, no.”
Valentino threw his arms up. “Yeah, no shit! That’s the problem! You think you can just fucking ignore me?! You think you’re too good to answer me now?!” He started pacing. “First, you lock your card.
“Yep,” Vox said, uninterested, already used to Valentino’s temper tantrums.
“Then, you block me.”
“Sure did.”
“And now you’re—” Valentino turned mid-rant, his eyes darting rapidly around the room, until they landed on Alastor. His expression twisted further. “Oh. You.”
Alastor just smiled, lifting his glass in a mock greeting. “Good evening to you as well.”
Valentino’s lip curled. “You seriously thought you could just ditch me for this scrawny motherfucker?!”
Vox inhaled slowly, summoning what little patience he had left. “Yes, actually. That’s what I hoped, at least.”
Valentino’s eye twitched. “Oh, no. No, no, I’m not about to be—” He was about to lash into more ranting, but then he stopped, and Vox watched with trepidation how his gaze traveled up to Alastor’s antler, or, more specifically, to the cock ring still hanging proudly from it like the unholy decoration that it was.
There was a moment of silence. Then, Valentino blinked, seemingly forgetting his anger for a second due to the sheer absurdity. He blinked again, ensuring he was seeing correctly.
His expression twisted from anger to sheer bewilderment. Then, slowly, he turned back to Vox, pure disbelief visible in every facial feature, and the look he threw him could only be described as “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Vox, already feeling exhausted because he knew what was about to follow, deadpanned, “Don’t,” in a weak attempt to stop Valentino from commenting on what he saw.
It was a useless attempt.
Because, of course, Valentino wasn’t about to let this slide. “Oh, nah, nah, nah.” He motioned toward Alastor with an incredulous laugh. “What the fuck is that?”
Alastor, still entirely unbothered, took another slow sip of whiskey. “You like my gift? Vox was quite thoughtful.”
Valentino let out a sound halfway between a growl and a laugh, almost choking on his rage. “You—? This—? This is just fucking sad. Actually pathetic. Mierda, baby, ¿ es esto realmente lo que te hace llegar? Are you that desperate?”
Vox bristled, offended on Alastor’s behalf, and he immediately stepped forward to block Valentino’s view. “Oh, fuck off.”
But Valentino was already storming past him, his sneer deepening as he took in the nicely decorated table, the candles, the flowers — oh, especially the flowers. His expression twisted in disgust. His hand shot out, yanking the bouquet of roses Vox had given to Alastor earlier off the table. “You never bought me flowers!”
Without hesitation, his grip tightened around the fragile stems, thorns biting into his palms as he crushed the roses in his fist. The delicate leaves tore under the pressure, and the petals crumpled until the once beautiful arrangement was reduced to a sad, pitiful mess.
With a scoff, Valentino tossed the ruined flowers onto the floor. Before either Vox or Alastor had time to react, he raised his foot and stomped down, grinding the poor, crushed roses beneath his heel into the ground over and over until all that remained was a shredded pile of petals and stems.
Vox stood there, momentarily speechless, a mixture of disbelief and fury written all over his screen as he watched the destruction unfold. But his shock quickly gave way to a boiling rage. What was this moron thinking, just walking in here and destroying everything he worked so hard for?!
“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped, his eye spiraling rapidly as sparks of electricity began to crackle at his fingertips.
“Come on, Voxxy. You know I’m better for you! You and me? We fit! This freak? He’s nothing compared to me!”
You arrogant piece of shit, Vox thought bitterly. You never appreciated me. You never gave a damn about me until I stopped giving a damn about you.
“You don’t get to decide who’s ‘better’ for me, motherfucker!” he shot back, voice rising with every word.
“I treated you better!”
Vox’s laugh was sharp and humorless, “Oh, fuck you. The fuck you did!” He was never more than an object to him, just a personal plaything, good enough to fuck and throw money around.
Valentino didn’t answer. He moved again, sweeping his arms across the table and sending decorations and the almost burned-down candles flying. The soft flicker of flames barely missed setting the carpet on fire, but Vox barely noticed. He was too busy holding himself together, barely tethered to what little control he had left.
“Oh, wow,” Valentino sneered, voice dripping with mockery as he caught sight of the box with chocolates. “Fancy fucking chocolate, too? ¿Me estás jodiendo? You never bought me this kind of shit!” He laughed, manic and bitter, before hurling the entire box against the wall, sending truffles splattering across the floor.
His fingers twitched, sparks flickering between them. He almost lost his composure then, but then he glanced at Alastor, still seated, still smiling that infuriatingly calm grin, and forced himself to take a shaky breath. No. Don’t. Not in front of him. Hold it together.
“And cooking? Seriously, Vox? You? Cooking?” He turned to Vox with pure rage in his eyes. “You never cooked for me, ¡hijo de puta! But this prissy little bitch gets a whole fucking meal?!” It was a good thing the plates were already gone, or they might have ended up smashed against the wall as well.
God, shut up, Vox thought, glaring at him. His hands clenched at his sides. All I wanted was one night. One perfect night to finally make him mine, and now you’re ruining everything!
“I suppose I’m more charming than you are, then,” Alastor chimed in from the sidelines, swirling his glass of whiskey with an infuriatingly smug grin, clearly relishing every moment of the chaos unfolding before him.
Valentino froze for a moment, as if he’d forgotten that Alastor was still there, too, before he slowly turned his head toward the Radio Demon, his eye twitching violently. The mocking lilt in Alastor’s voice was like a spark to gasoline.
Don’t do it... just don’t... Vox thought, a spark of worry flickering through him. But, of course, Valentino was already moving.
“Shut the fuck up!” he snarled in his direction, before he started walking until he loomed threateningly over the still-seated radio demon, wings twitching with barely contained anger.
Vox stayed rooted to the spot, forcing himself to remain calm even as tension twisted in his gut. He’s trying to intimidate him. Idiot. That won’t work.
But the longer Valentino loomed over Alastor, the harder it was for Vox not to just grab him and drag him away.
Alastor didn’t even blink, which somehow threw even Vox off. Not Alastor, per se, but just this whole goddamn situation. How the fuck could he look so... unbothered?
That infuriating lack of reaction only stoked Valentino’s fury further. “You think this is funny, huh?” he growled, voice low and venomous. His nails dug into his palms as he seethed, his breathing growing heavier. His eyes flicked to the whiskey bottle on the table, half-empty and conveniently within reach.
No. No, no, no— Vox’s mind raced ahead, already seeing where this was going before Valentino even reached for the bottle.
In one swift motion, the moth snatched the bottle by the neck, his grip so tight it almost cracked under the pressure. Without thinking, he raised it high, ready to hurl it straight at Alastor’s smiling face.
Is he actually—? He wouldn’t— Vox’s mind didn’t even have time to finish the thought before his instincts kicked in.
Alastor didn’t even flinch. Not even a muscle. He just tilted his head slightly, gaze calm and calculating in another silent mockery, as if already knowing Valentino’s aim was too far off to hit him.
Vox appeared between them in a flash of electricity, positioning his body protectively in front of Alastor. He didn’t even realize he’d stepped in until he was already there, the crackle of electricity trailing behind.
Lucky for both of them, Valentino’s aim was as shitty as ever without his glasses. The second he launched the bottle, it went wildly off-course, missing both Vox and Alastor entirely. Instead, the expensive whiskey splattered against the wall behind them, the glass shattering on impact and raining down in glittering shards, while the amber liquid was dripping down the wall in messy streaks.
For a moment, there was silence.
He just— he almost— Vox’s mind raced. He didn’t even care about the whiskey, even though that really was a waste. It’s not like Vox wasn’t used to getting drenched in various fluids when around Valentino, and this was hardly the first time he’d thrown his drink at him. Vox had become a master at dodging this shit over the years for a reason.
But now, it was impossible to keep his composure anymore — not when Valentino had come this close to hurting Alastor.
Vox didn’t even realize he’d lunged forward until his hand twisted into Valentino’s fur collar, yanking him down harshly.
His voice came out low and dangerous, trembling with barely restrained fury. “You have no room to complain,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his screen flickering slightly. “I always did everything for your spoiled ass! Everything! You’re the one who treated me like shit, Val! Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking asshole, I’d have—”
“Hah! What the fuck did I ever get, huh? Nothing! Not a goddamn thing! But he gets the royal fucking treatment?! You out here playing doting little housewife for this washed-up, overhyped freak who doesn’t even appreciate half the shit you do for him!”
Vox ground his teeth. “That makes two of you, then! You never deserved my effort, and making a scene right now just proves it!”
Valentino let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh, fuck you! The fuck did he do to deserve it, huh?! Are you actually into malnourished deer?!” He glared over Vox’s head and locked eyes with Alastor, the disdain evident in his gaze.
Alastor was still composed, despite being insulted directly to his face now, still seated and smiling, not getting caught up in this angry energy like Vox. That only pissed Valentino off more.
“Oh, I can’t believe this is what you’re wasting your time on!” He stepped back and, instead, started pacing around the couch table. “Seriously, what the fuck do you even see in him? Like this virgin prude is anything special! Look at you, playing the savior, and for what?! Do you actually think he’ll let you stick your dick in him because of that?!”
Alastor’s grin remained in place, but his eyes flashed with something dangerous. Still, he didn’t move, didn’t react beyond the subtle shift in the air around him.
Vox did move.
He grabbed Valentino by the collar again, forcing their faces close as sparks snapped through the air around them. “Back the fuck off!” His voice was low, but vibrating with barely controlled rage. “You don’t get to come in here and wreck my shit just because you can’t stand the fact that I don’t fucking want you anymore!”
Valentino yanked himself free, shoving Vox’s hands away. “Oh, get real,” he spat. “You think this freak is better than me? You think he—” he jabbed a finger toward Alastor “—is gonna give a single shit about you? You’re pouring all this effort into him, and for what?!”
Vox’s fans whirred in overtime with his rising fury, but at the same time, his stomach dropped in sheer panic, because he already suspected what was about to follow and that Valentino was in the process of ruining everything, so, in hopes of saving something, he quickly tried backpaddling, “Val, please—”
But Valentino kept going, completely caught up in his anger, not even acknowledging him. “Do you really think he’s gonna love you back?” he mocked. “That he’s gonna wake up one day and actually give a shit about your pathetic, desperate simping?!”
The words cracked something open inside Vox — something raw and ugly and terrifying.
It hit like a bullet straight through the chest. His whole body tensed up as his mind stuttered over the words. He stood there, frozen to the spot, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.
“Yeah. That’s right. You’re throwing all this effort into someone who doesn’t even fucking want you.” Valentino continued, twisting the knife deeper.
With Valentino, you had to be prepared for everything. Things escalated fast, and got handsy or violent even faster. Vox could handle that; he had done it a million times before, but he hadn’t anticipated this. This wasn’t just him throwing a tantrum anymore; this was personal. Yes, Vox had planned to confess to Alastor tonight, but in his own way, with carefully chosen words, a moment wrapped in the perfect setting, a confession that meant something — and not like this, not spat into the open like a cheap insult, like some pathetic, humiliating joke.
But Valentino had never needed fists to ruin things. He could hit with words as much as he could with body parts. And now, with just a few careless syllables, he'd taken something important for Vox and ripped it apart.
Now, there was no way around Alastor not knowing about his feelings because he had surely heard that. It felt like his worst fucking nightmare come to life.
Vox wanted to look at him, to see his reaction, but he couldn’t. He was stuck, frozen, locked inside his own skull with nothing but the deafening hum of his own spiraling panic.
After the world first stood still and now seemed to spin too quickly, he finally risked a hesitant glance at his date. Alastor, who had remained so eerily still throughout this whole ordeal, finally shifted. It was barely anything — a slight head tilt and his eyes narrowing. His ever-present smile didn’t waver, but something about it felt loaded.
The air grew cold.
Emboldened by the lack of reaction from both of them, Valentino kept pushing. “Look at you, throwing a goddamn romantic dinner for someone who doesn’t even realize what the fuck’s going on! ¡Dios mío! V, I almost feel bad for you!”
Something inside Vox snapped.
His gaze shifted to the man who had just ruined his entire confession with a few careless words. Clenching his fists, he felt his claws digging into his palms. Just as he was about to snap and lunge at the other man to finally shut him the fuck up, Valentino suddenly pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it at him.
A tiny, metallic cling echoed through the silent room as the stolen ring hit Vox’s chest before innocently tumbling to the floor. It was a quiet sound, yet somehow, it felt like a gunshot.
For a second, everything else faded — the static in his brain, the anger, even his fear. All that was left was the sight of that little metal ring, lying at his feet like his plans for the perfect date.
“He’s not the happy ending you’re looking for,” Valentino taunted. “And the way you still cling to him after everything is just fucking embarrassing.”
Vox saw red.
His whole body tensed, the electricity already traveling up his arms, but before he could even move, Valentino took it a step further.
He growled, moving into Vox’s personal space until their faces were almost touching, moments away from grabbing him. “You’re mine, V—”
Before he could finish, Alastor finally stood, carefully setting down his whiskey before dissolving into shadows. In an instant, he reappeared beside them. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you.”
Valentino snapped his head toward him with a snarl. “No one fucking asked you, Bambi!”
The calm demeanor was gone now, and Alastor’s grin stretched unnaturally wide. His antlers lengthened, and radio dials flickered in his eyes. The air around him grew heavy.
Valentino’s eye twitched, but he hesitated. He might not respect Alastor, let alone like him, but he sure as hell knew better than to underestimate him.
“Stay outta this, freak,” he tried, though his voice had lost some of its bite.
Alastor’s grin widened dangerously. “Or what?”
Valentino hesitated, still seething, but for the first time, it dawned on him that Vox wouldn’t back him up here, like he usually did. And Alastor— oh, Alastor already looked one second away from tearing him apart. He took a step back, glaring at Vox, pretending Alastor’s looming presence didn’t shake him.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” His voice was calmer now, but the barely restrained fury still simmered beneath the surface. “You’d rather waste your time with him than return where you belong?”
“I don’t belong to you,” Vox snapped, his anger rising again.
Valentino’s fists clenched. “You’re making a fucking mistake, V.”
Vox let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh yeah? Well, lucky me, I don’t take fucking advice from you.”
“As entertaining as this little spat has been,” Alastor drawled, “I believe Vox wants you to leave.” He looked as if he was seconds away from throwing him out the window to make it quicker.
Valentino’s gaze darted between the two of them. He knew a losing battle when he saw one. But before making his retreat, fury demanded an outlet. Usually, he would’ve hit Vox in those cases, but hitting him now with Alastor so close would be his fucking death sentence, that much he knew. So, instead, he turned and smashed his fist straight through Vox’s expensive TV.
The screen shattered in an explosion of glass and sparks, the impact sending a piercing crack echoing through the apartment. The once-pristine display now hung in jagged ruins, flickering weakly before giving out entirely.
The room went dead silent.
Valentino shook out his slightly bloodied hand, dislodging glass shards, then blew out an exaggerated breath.
Vox didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eye spiraled violently, though, and his fists trembled with barely contained rage. This was hardly the first time Valentino smashed his things, and especially tonight, it just felt like the cherry on the cake.
After the ruined confession and everything else, there wasn’t even enough anger left in him, so he just exhaled, his voice eerily calm. “I hope it was fucking worth it.”
He felt Alastor’s aura rise next to him, feeling him getting restless, and Vox was done playing nice. Valentino deserved whatever was coming. He stepped forward, fixing the moth with a glare. “Last chance. Get. Out.”
It was the last mercy he was willing to offer.
Valentino didn’t take the hint. Instead, he crossed his arms like a misbehaving child. “Make me.”
“Oh-ho~! Happily.” Alastor’s smile widened, and his form expanded rapidly. The room’s temperature plummeted.
“Vox, my darling, do you mind terribly if I—”
“Do whatever the fuck you want,” Vox muttered, waving a dismissive hand as he turned away. “Just get him the fuck out of my sight.”
Valentino barely had time to react before Alastor grabbed him by the collar, dragging him toward the door with an unsettling hum. “I do believe you've overstayed your welcome! But don’t worry — I’ll be sure to see you off properly.”
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the room in sudden, heavy silence.
꧁🎔꧂
Vox left Alastor to deal with Valentino however he saw fit, not even sparing him a second glance as he was dragged out. The only rule was not to kill him. That would cause more problems than it was worth. But despite that, Vox knew he’d have to deal with the aftermath eventually. He always did.
He didn’t watch or listen; he didn’t want to know what was happening out there.
Instead, he picked up the little ring off the floor, thoughtfully rolling it between his fingers before collapsing onto the couch with a heavy sigh. He dragged a hand down his screen, his body still stiff with the lingering stress from the encounter. Even with Valentino gone, the tension in his shoulders refused to dissipate. Now, the night was well and truly fucked.
It was almost laughable how fast everything had gone to shit. There wasn't even any whiskey left to get himself drunk with now. He looked around the ruined apartment, feeling a giant headache creeping up.
His date was so fucking ruined. It was supposed to be perfect. He’d spent days, no, weeks, agonizing over every detail, ensuring the atmosphere was just right. This was supposed to be the night. The moment he finally told Alastor how he felt.
And now?
Now, that moment had been ripped away from him.
Vox couldn’t hold his hand while the candlelight flickered warmly around them. He couldn’t stare into his eyes as they shared the whiskey, nor could he casually pull him into his arms during the movie to see if he would pull back or lean in. Vox couldn’t wait for the right opportunity, couldn’t make it special. He couldn’t even see his reaction properly.
Not that Vox hadn’t stressed over that part — the ‘seeing his reaction’ part, specifically — because, fuck, he had. But if everything else had gone according to plan, it would have been so much easier. He might’ve had a chance if the evening had gone smoothly. Instead, Valentino had seen to it that the whole thing exploded in the most humiliating way possible.
And now, the damage was done.
There was no way around it now. His feelings were out in the open, spelled out in the bluntest, most degrading way possible, and now there was no way Alastor didn’t know. There was no undoing Valentino’s words, no pretending Alastor hadn’t heard it. Even if his deer was a little slow on the uptake when it came to romance, there was no way he hadn’t finally put it together after that. And now Vox was left here, sitting in the wreckage of what was supposed to be his big romantic moment, feeling like a complete idiot.
He squeezed his eye shut, exhaling sharply. His fingers curled around the ring in his palm, the cool metal grounding him. This was supposed to be the night. His chance to make Alastor see — fuck — that he cared. That this was a thing. That they were a thing. That it can work. That they could be something more than just friends, or at least, that Vox wanted to be more.
He didn’t dare glance at the door. Just the thought of the confrontation waiting for him when Alastor walked back in made his circuits buzz with anxiety.
Would Alastor be weird about it? Would he pity him? Laugh at him? Dismiss his feelings like they were nothing?
Maybe he’d pretend nothing happened at all.
Maybe… he’d leave.
Vox’s fingers curled into fists. That last thought made something cold settle in his chest, because Alastor leaving after Vox poured out his feelings did not have a good track record. If Alastor decided that knowing the truth made all of this too complicated, too much—
Fuck. He couldn’t lose him. Not again. If Alastor just wanted to be friends, fine. Vox could cope. Probably. Eventually. But losing him all over again?
That would reopen the old, barely healed wound, and he wasn’t sure he could endure that pain again.
꧁🎔꧂
Vox didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, stewing in frustration and spiraling deeper into his thoughts with every passing second. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and Alastor stepped back inside.
Vox stiffened but didn’t look up. He could hear Alastor dusting off his sleeves, utterly unbothered, as if he hadn’t just spent the last several minutes doing God knows what to Valentino outside his door.
“Ah, what a night! That was very cathartic!” Alastor announced, his voice far too chipper for Vox’s current mood. “Though I must say, Valentino is quite the screamer! Who knew?”
Vox said nothing.
“Now then!” Alastor continued, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him. “Where were we?”
Still, Vox refused to look at him. His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his pants. “I really don’t wanna fucking talk right now.”
There was silence for a couple of seconds. Then, light footsteps as Alastor approached. “No ‘thank you’ for taking out the trash?” he teased, his tone still sing-songy but now laced with something more... thoughtful.
Vox’s eyes remained glued to the shattered TV Valentino had so spectacularly destroyed, the broken screen a perfect reflection of how he felt about this ruined evening. He let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough in his throat.
“This whole thing was a fucking joke,” he muttered when the silence between them stretched too long, his voice quieter now, tinged with exhaustion. “I went all out for nothing. Got my place trashed for nothing. Made a fucking fool of myself for nothing.”
Vox’s shoulders hunched slightly, bracing himself for whatever might happen next.
Alastor didn’t reply, but was watching him. Vox could feel those sharp eyes boring searchingly into him. There was no teasing, not even laughter at seeing him so defeated and pathetic, and Vox didn’t know if he preferred the silence or if the lack of reaction was actually worse.
He hesitated before finally glancing up. “You good?” he asked carefully. The words felt as small as he felt.
Alastor chuckled softly. If blood had been on him, he’d already taken care of it — his suit was immaculate as ever. “I quite enjoyed myself,” he replied, voice smooth and amused. “He won’t be bothering us again tonight.”
Vox groaned, burying his face back into his hands, still sitting on the couch like a little heap of misery.
After another lingering silence began to stretch, Alastor decided Vox had done enough stewing. “So!” He clapped his hands together. “Are we continuing movie night, or shall we continue sitting in moody silence and stew in your misplaced romantic yearning ?”
Vox froze.
Then, without a word, he grabbed Alastor’s whiskey glass, tipped it back, and downed the remaining liquid in one big swallow. “I fucking hate you,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
Alastor laughed, draping an arm over the back of the couch, dangerously close. “Oh, do you? I’m not sure I believe you after everything I’ve heard tonight.”
Vox swallowed down whatever he wanted to say and instead looked back at the ruined TV, feeling like the wreckage of his entire goddamn night was reflected right there in the broken glass.
Alastor, it seemed, had decided to grant Vox his moment of silence. He stood quietly, hands clasped behind his back, watching him with something dangerously close to understanding in those beautiful, red eyes. It put Vox on edge even more.
“You know,” Alastor began, his voice unexpectedly gentle, “it’s quite the shame you’re so hung up on how the night ended. Because really, dear, I did enjoy myself tonight.”
Vox blinked, finally looking up at him, skepticism clear in his expression. “…You did?”
Alastor hummed in affirmation. “Why, of course! The food and chocolates were delightful, and the company was quite pleasant.” He stepped closer, “and let’s not forget the entertaining twist. That fool was more dramatic than the movie could have been.”
Vox scoffed, rolling his eyes. Of fucking course Alastor would only care about the aspect of being entertained. Before he could retreat into another spiral of self-pity, Alastor stepped directly in front of him, effectively blocking his view of the broken TV, forcing Vox to look at him instead. His ever-present smile remained, but something in his eyes softened, searching for something unspoken.
“…I did appreciate it, you know.”
Vox froze, his mind struggling to process the words he never expected to hear. Alastor? Appreciating something he did for him? That… was new.
Alastor glanced off to the side, humming thoughtfully. “It was a lovely evening, wasn’t it?” When his gaze returned to Vox, it was unexpectedly tender, as if he were looking at something precious. The sight nearly sent Vox’s systems into overdrive.
Without waiting for a response, Alastor stepped closer and extended a hand. “So! Let’s not end the evening on such a dreary note, hmm? I do believe a proper sendoff is in order!”
Vox narrowed his eyes, glancing at the hand. “…What are you talking about?”
Alastor’s grin widened, and that was all the warning Vox got before being pulled to his feet and led to the center of the room, where there was more space.
Vox stumbled after him, trying not to trip over his feet. “What the hell are you—?”
Alastor snapped his fingers. A smooth, warm jazz melody hummed to life, curling through the apartment like smoke. Vox turned, looking for the source of the music, but it seemed to come from everywhere. The familiar tune swayed through the air, something slow and rich, and despite himself, Vox felt nostalgia curling in his chest.
When he turned back, Alastor was still holding his hand and smiling—but it wasn’t the usual shit-eating grin he usually wore. It was softer, more genuine, and so painfully familiar.
Alastor gave a playful bow. “Care for a dance, darling?”
Vox could only stare. After a night filled with disaster upon disaster — a chain reaction of humiliation and shattered expectations. After Valentino had just wrecked his apartment, his dignity, and every last hope that things could have ended any other way, Alastor wanted to dance? Was that his way of cheering him up?
“…What?” was all he managed, though he made no effort to pull away.
Alastor huffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, don’t be dense, my dear! You do remember how, don’t you?”
Vox stared at him a moment longer than intended, then, to his own surprise, he snorted, shaking his head with a fondness he didn’t bother to hide. “Fuck, alright — but I’m leading!”
A pleased hum escaped the deer demon as Vox allowed himself to be pulled in closer. Their hands came together effortlessly. His other settled at Alastor’s waist, while Alastor rested his on Vox’s shoulder. Hesitant at first, their steps soon became fluid. Alastor followed Vox’s lead without question, the rhythm coming back to them like second nature — an old habit neither had truly forgotten, almost as if no time had passed.
The tension in Vox’s chest began to ease, just a little, as he relaxed into Alastor’s touch.
This— this was how it used to be. Just them. The old, good days. Moving in sync to a rhythm only they understood, laughing, spinning, stepping through time as the world belonged to them. Vox had missed this — the way everything outside their little bubble disappeared, the way the room itself shrank down to nothing when it was just them.
As they swayed together, lost in the familiar rhythm, Vox felt his frustration melt away, replaced by something warmer. The music curled around them like smoke, and for the first time that evening, he let himself breathe. And maybe, just maybe, that little ember of hope inside him that stubbornly refused to go away began glowing a little brighter.
For now, there was just this. And for now, it was enough.
Maybe it was the warmth of Alastor’s touch, the soft sway of their movements, or the simple fact that Alastor had never outright rejected him, never even mocked him once since the disaster happened, but Vox could feel his determination return, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out:
“…I really wanted tonight to be special.”
Alastor hummed thoughtfully. “And it was, in its own chaotic way.”
“No, Al, I mean…” Vox swallowed hard, his grip on Alastor’s waist tightening slightly, as if afraid the other would slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
“I—” He let out a shaky breath, feeling ridiculous, but he had already started, and there was no turning back now. “I tried, y’know? I tried to make it obvious. The homemade dinner, the flowers, the whiskey, the fucking… ambiance.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “And you didn’t catch on to any of it, and it was driving me insane—”
“Oh, I did notice all that,” Alastor interrupted lightly, “and as I already told you, I truly appreciate your efforts in making this a charming evening—”
“It wasn’t just a ‘charming little evening between old friends,’” Vox cut in before Alastor could veer in the wrong direction again. His voice was quieter now, but he fought to keep it steady. “And I— I need you to understand that I put all this effort in for a reason.”
Alastor stayed silent after that, but his steps slowed slightly.
Vox groaned, frustration bubbling to the surface. No, not this time. Part of him had hoped he wouldn’t have to say it outright, but fuck it, if he had to spell it out, so be it.
“Fuck, Al. Valentino was right. I am trying to date you, dumbass!”
Vox sucked in a sharp breath, pushing forward before his courage could waver.
“And I hate that it got fucked up. That Val had to open his stupid fucking mouth, because I—” Another deep inhale, as if trying to steady his pounding heart. “Because I was going to tell you, but in my way, on my terms.”
Alastor tilted his head, slow and considering. “...Tell me what?”
Vox’s throat tightened. His pulse pounded so hard he half-expected it to echo in the room. He forced himself to meet Alastor’s gaze, locking eyes with him even as his heart thundered in his chest as if it was trying to escape.
“I—” His voice wavered for a moment before he caught it, gripping Alastor just a little tighter, as if that could anchor him. Then, in a voice quieter than he ever thought himself capable of—
“I’m in love with you, Alastor.”
The words left him like a confession torn from his very core. They tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, and their weight settled thick in the air between them.
“I want to be more than just… whatever the fuck we are. Friends, colleagues, rivals — it doesn’t matter. It’s not enough anymore. It never has been. I want you. I want us to be something more.”
Alastor’s grip on his shoulder faltered.
Vox’s heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he was sure Alastor must hear it. But Alastor said nothing. Silence stretched between them, filled only by the music that played on softly around them, as if mocking the weight of the moment.
And then—
“…Oh.”
Vox stopped moving. “Oh? That’s all you’ve got? Oh?!”
“Well, that certainly explains a few things…” Alastor began, then hesitated. “But I’m not sure I understand—”
Vox yanked himself out of Alastor’s grip as if burned, staring at him with a mix of exasperation and desperation. “For fuck’s sake, I’m in love with you, dammit! What is there not to understand?!”
Alastor tilted his head, considering him carefully.
Before Vox could step away and turn his back on him, Alastor caught his wrist, fingers curling around his flickering pulse. The grip was firm but not forceful — an unspoken request for him to stay, not a demand. If Vox didn’t know better, he might’ve sworn Alastor’s fingers trembled slightly.
His ears flattened, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle with his words. Then, softly, almost too carefully, he spoke.
“I meant… I don’t understand because… I was under the impression that we already were.”
Vox froze, mind going completely blank. He blinked once. Twice. The words echoed in his head, tangled and looping, trying to make sense of themselves.
Alastor looked at him with that same unreadable expression — except for the usual smile — but tighter now, almost forced.
Vox opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. He didn’t care if he looked like a fish gasping for air right now.
“… What,” he finally managed to croak out.
Alastor’s ears twitched. “Yes, well…” He shifted from foot to foot, looking — of all things — uncomfortable. Something Vox never thought possible. “I assumed it was rather obvious that we are… together? Are we not?”
A garbled static noise escaped Vox, something faint and strangled. If he had a jaw, he was sure it would’ve hit the floor. “WHAT?!”
Frantically, he searched Alastor’s face, half-expecting this to be some cruel joke. His eyes darted for any sign of a cruel smirk, a suppressed laugh — anything to indicate Alastor was messing with him.
But the smile, though present, wasn’t playful. If anything, it looked strained.
“You— you what?” Vox’s voice cracked, and he knew he sounded like a broken record, but his circuits felt fried. “You knew I was into you? This whole time?”
Alastor dared to chuckle at him. “Of course! You are hardly subtle, my dear. But isn’t that a good thing in this case? Shouldn’t you be ‘into me’ in a relationship?”
Vox made another helpless sound, sure that his screen was glitching. “First of all — don’t phrase it like this! Second of all, you never said anything! You never did anything! How the fuck was I supposed to know you thought we were already— what the hell?!”
Alastor frowned. “What more was there to say?” He gestured vaguely between them. “We spend so much time together, we trust each other, we…” He hesitated. “…care for each other, clearly. I saw no need to put a label on it. But you seem… a little distressed.”
“Distressed?” Vox echoed, incredulous. “Distressed?!” He dragged a hand down his screen, trying — and failing — to keep his composure. “I’ve been agonizing over this! Planning! Trying to win you over! And the whole time—” He groaned loudly, exasperated.
His whole damn life had been wasted trying to woo this deer! He had spent months — no, years — obsessing over every detail, every moment, every interaction, thinking he had to work for Alastor’s affection. And now, here the cause of his sleepless nights was, calmly revealing that he had him this entire fucking time?
Vox pressed his hands against his face. “I— I don’t even know how to process this.”
Alastor looked away, ears flattening once more. “I suppose that’s my fault, isn’t it? I thought… talking about it unnecessary.” Something flickered in his eyes— guilt? Amusement? Hesitation? Vox didn’t have the processing power to figure it out right now. “But if you must have a label, then… ugh.” He waved a hand dramatically. “Fine. Call it a relationship. There! Happy?”
Vox stared at him, still feeling like he was overheating. “I— fuck no, I’m not fucking happy! I—” He struggled for words. “I— I need to sit down.”
“Splendid idea!” Alastor chirped, seizing the opportunity to have a distraction from the conversation. “Let’s sit down.”
Still utterly dumbfounded, Vox let himself be led back to the couch. His body was moving on autopilot while his mind felt like it had been thrown into a blender. He dropped onto the seat, rubbing the edges of his screen as if that would help him process the last few minutes. Beside him, Alastor settled in comfortably, watching with a bemused expression as Vox struggled to wrap his head around everything.
When he finally looked up at Alastor, his gaze immediately landed on the ridiculous cock ring still perched on his antler. He groaned, unable to endure that sight any longer.
“Okay, before we do anything else—” Vox reached up, gently prying the ring off. “I can’t have a serious fucking conversation with you wearing this.”
“Oh, but it was a gift. Wouldn’t you be mad if I didn’t wear it?”
Vox turned the object over in his hand, holding it out on his palm for Alastor to inspect. “You really have no idea what this is, huh?”
Alastor shrugged. “You said it’s a ring—”
“I lied! Look, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see you wear it, but Al, the thing is… this is a cock ring.”
Silence fell between them.
Alastor stared at him.
Vox stared back.
Then Alastor’s ear flicked in irritation. “…A what now?”
“Oh, for the love of—” Vox groaned, throwing his head back. “Exactly what it sounds like. You put it around your dick.”
More silence. Alastor’s eyes widened slightly as they flicked between the ring and Vox’s face. Then, very slowly — painfully slowly — his gaze locked back onto Vox’s, and he tilted his head in consideration. “Now, don’t be ridiculous, my dear. Why would one put a ring around... why put it there?”
Vox blinked, not having expected that question among all the ones he could have been asked. “It’s… it’s for— well, it’s supposed to… slow the blood flow…”
Alastor tilted his head curiously. “Slow the blood flow for what, exactly?”
Vox groaned, dragging a hand down his screen. “For fuck’s sake, Al, it’s supposed to make your erection harder and longer-lasting! It— ugh— nevermind!”
Alastor raised an eyebrow, clearly still not convinced. “Really? How curious.”
“Why are we even talking about this?!” Vox asked, clearly getting flustered. “The point is— it’s for sex! You shouldn't wear it so casually!”
“…Yet you let me parade around with it for hours?”
Vox couldn’t help it. Despite everything, a snort escaped him. “To be fair, you put it there yourself!”
Alastor’s ears flattened, and for the first time all night, he actually looked embarrassed. “You knew and still let me wear it!”
Vox couldn’t hold it in anymore. Laughter bubbled up from deep within him until he was outright cackling, some of the night’s tension finally easing away.
“VOX!”
“I panicked!” he tried to defend himself through his laughter.
“You—!” Alastor threw his hands up in exasperation. “Unbelievable! Here I was, unknowingly making an absolute fool out of myself, and you just let it happen?!”
Vox covered his mouth, failing miserably to stifle his laughter. “You looked adorable wearing it, okay? Do you have any idea how hard it was to sit through dessert with you?”
Alastor huffed, crossing his arms, still visibly embarrassed. “That certainly changes my opinion on the quality of your so-called gift-giving skills.”
Vox wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “The fact that you thought that ugly thing was my grand romantic gift…”
“It came in a box! What else was I supposed to assume?!”
Vox shook his head, finally catching his breath. “Satan, Al… I didn’t know if I should be relieved or horrified that you didn’t recognize it.”
“This is precisely why communication is so very important, dear!”
“Oh, you don’t even fucking start with communication! Not after you refrained from communicating our relationship to me!”
Alastor had the audacity to look amused. “Don’t be petty now—”
“I’ll be as petty as I damn well please! I’ve earned it after what you just put me through!”
Alastor shrugged. “Well, in my defense, you could have asked—”
“Oh sure, because that would’ve gone so well,” Vox scoffed. “‘Hey, Al, by the way, are we dating already, or do I have to woo you first?’ Yeah, that would’ve been a delightful conversation.”
But his anger wasn’t real, and it faded as the reality of everything finally settled. His shoulders sagged slightly, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “…We really need to talk, huh?”
Alastor sighed, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of discussing feelings, and adjusted his bowtie. “…I suppose we do.”
Vox turned the cock ring over in his hand one last time — then promptly yeeted it over his shoulder and out of sight.
“Alright,” Vox muttered, voice low. “Before we talk, I just—” He reached into his pocket, pulling out the actual ring Valentino had thrown at him earlier. It was cool against his fingertips, starkly contrasting the sudden heat creeping up his neck. Turning it over between his fingers, he gently took Alastor’s hand and slipped the ring onto his finger.
“—I did get the correct size, by the way,” he added quietly.
Alastor blinked, staring at the ring now snugly resting against his skin.
“I mean, you don’t have to keep it,” Vox coughed, suddenly feeling exposed when Alastor stayed silent. “Really, if you don’t want it, that’s fine, I can—”
Before he could finish, Alastor tugged him forward by the wrist. Their chests nearly collided, and Vox barely managed to brace himself before warm lips pressed against his own — it was sudden, a little clumsy, but undeniably real.
Vox nearly short-circuited.
For a breathless moment, his mind blanked entirely, lost in the entirety of everything — the feel of Alastor’s mouth, the press of his fingers, the faint scent of him so close. He barely had time to process what was happening — let alone kiss back — before Alastor pulled away, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat.
“There. Now, will you stop rambling?” His fingers still curled loosely around Vox’s wrist, and for once, he looked just as flustered as Vox felt.
Vox stared at him, at a complete loss. “Did you just—”
“Yes.”
“You kissed me—”
“Yes.”
“To shut me up?”
“Yes! Now, would you be so kind?”
Alastor’s grip tightened briefly before he let go, fingers tapping idly against his knee instead. His smile remained, but his body language betrayed him. Vox could see the subtle tension in his shoulders and hear a rare hesitation in his voice.
He cleared his throat again, visibly uncomfortable but determined to speak. “I believe you wanted an explanation, didn’t you?”
Vox gave a small, jerky nod, not trusting his voice not to crack. His brain still felt like it was running ten steps behind reality.
They settled into the couch, both unnervingly fidgety. Vox wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable, and Alastor… well, he wasn’t used to talking about feelings at all.
“You must understand,” Alastor finally admitted after a long stretch of silence. “This is all… new to me.”
Vox tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean?”
Alastor exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping to his hands. “I’ve never had a relationship before. Never even thought I wanted one.”
Vox swallowed and waited, determined to let his deer speak, no matter how much his chest tightened with anticipation. He knew this wasn’t easy for Alastor, and he tried his hardest not to interrupt. He reached out, though, gently prying Alastor’s hand from where it had tightened in the fabric of his pants and offering his own hand as comfort instead.
“I don’t know if I love you,” Alastor confessed, voice quieter now, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like.” His fingers tightened around Vox’s hand. “But… if anything comes close, it’s this. It’s you.”
Vox’s breath caught in his throat, and the fingers of his free hand curled against his knee. His eyes widened, but he stayed silent, letting Alastor continue.
“I’ve never…” Alastor’s voice softened further, almost like he was afraid to admit it. “I’ve never wanted to be around someone like this. Never craved company the way I do with you. Never wanted to share—” he gestured vaguely between them, “—time, space, myself. I don’t know what a relationship is supposed to feel like, but if it’s normal to crave someone’s attention as much as I crave yours…”
Vox swallowed hard, and his heart pounded so loudly he was sure it echoed through the room.
“And…” Alastor’s fingers curled tighter around his. “I certainly never considered, well, physical acts with anyone. Until you.”
Vox froze, stunned into silence. His throat felt impossibly dry.
That— That meant—
Alastor’s gaze flickered up again when he was done explaining, meeting Vox’s eyes with a rare, unguarded vulnerability that made Vox’s breath hitch.
“Al… fuck, I—” Vox’s voice cracked, overwhelmed by the realization that his feelings were reciprocated, in some way, had been all along, probably.
It all seemed to make sense now. Alastor had never truly understood the ‘dating’ thing, and when they had already been together in his mind, it also made sense that he wasn’t responding to Vox’s attempts to woo him, especially tonight.
He felt ridiculous now, letting out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “…You really thought we were already dating?”
Alastor gave him a flat, unamused look. “I just said as much, didn’t I? Weren’t you listening?”
Vox ran a hand down his screen, still struggling to comprehend everything. “But… throughout the date, you seemed so oblivious to all my romantic gestures, I would’ve never guessed—”
“Oh, please, dear. I wasn’t oblivious. I was messing with you.”
Vox blinked, taken aback. “You— what?”
Alastor huffed dramatically, leaning back against the couch. “Honestly, all that expense was entirely unnecessary, and I was wondering why you suddenly made such a fuss about it. Though I admit, watching you fret over impressing me when I already considered you mine was amusing. You’re adorable, really.”
“So then— what about that comment about me charming another into my bed?”
Alastor huffed, his expression instantly shifting to something far more possessive. “Oh, that was obviously a joke. I would never allow you to leave me for someone else, darling.”
Vox gawked at him. “So you let me sweat bullets all night for fun?”
Alastor’s grin stretched wider. “Precisely.”
Vox groaned louder, flopping back into the cushions. “Unbelievable. You’re so lucky I love you, otherwise I would—”
Alastor chuckled, squeezing his hand. “Good. Because you are mine, dear. And that’s not changing anytime soon.”
That was it. That was the final straw. Something in Vox snapped.
In one fluid motion, he surged forward, grabbing Alastor by the collar and pulling him into a deep, heated kiss — one that left no room for misinterpretation. If words failed him, he’d have to make himself understood another way.
Alastor made a muffled, surprised noise against Vox's mouth before he relaxed slightly. His hands reached Vox's waist and gripped him tightly, holding on.
Their first kisses were… a little awkward, maybe even clumsy. Alastor had been caught by surprise, and though Vox had expected some hesitation — Alastor was his little prude, after all — he hadn’t anticipated just how stiff he’d be. The man was kissing as if he were trying to solve a puzzle, carefully positioning each movement of his lips.
Vox pulled back slightly, concern flickering across his face. Had he misread things? Overstepped a boundary? Pushed too far, too fast? “You good?”
Alastor blinked at him, and his ears twitched nervously. His grip on Vox’s jacket was a little too tight to be casual. “Yes! Just— ah—” He hesitated, then a determined look crossed his face. “Might need some practice. You can keep going.”
Vox didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in again, capturing Alastor’s lips without hesitation. This time, his deer was at least somewhat prepared, managing not to freeze up entirely, though he was still stiff, and there still was an endearing clumsiness to it, especially when his nose kept bumping against Vox’s screen with every movement.
Vox chuckled softly into the kiss, about to deepen it as he slid his hands up to gently cup Alastor’s face. His tongue flicked out, teasing against Alastor’s lips, seeking entrance when suddenly—
Alastor jerked back so fast he nearly sent himself toppling over the couch. “What— what was that?!”
Vox blinked, dumbfounded, lips still parted. “What was what?”
“That!” Alastor jabbed a finger at Vox’s mouth like he’d just witnessed a crime. “You did something with your mouth!”
Vox furrowed his brows, confused for all of two seconds before realization dawned on him. “You mean my tongue?”
Alastor shuddered visibly at the mention of it. “Yes! That!”
Vox couldn’t help it — he laughed and threw his head back against the couch. “Oh, come on, Al, it’s just my tongue!”
“Well, I didn’t expect it! What were you even trying to do with that?!”
“Uh… Frenching?” Vox replied, grinning.
“With your tongue?!”
“That’s how it works!”
“Absolutely not!”
Vox snorted, flicking his tongue out playfully. “What, have you never been Frenched before?”
Alastor hesitated, then huffed, scrunching up his nose. “I’ve never even been kissed before.”
Vox’s laughter died instantly, freezing in place as his grin faltered. “You—”
“I mean, properly,” Alastor muttered, suddenly looking mildly embarrassed. “Certainly nothing like this.”
Vox felt his brain stutter to a halt, and tiny hearts formed in his eyes. “You’re… you’re serious?”
Alastor’s gaze flickered away, suddenly very interested in the couch fabric.
A warm, delighted sensation curled in Vox’s chest as the realization sank in, heat licking up his spine. He barely held back the strangled sound escaping him as his heart started slamming against his ribs in excitement.
Oh, fuck. He had been Alastor’s first real kiss! And he had almost ruined it by getting ahead of himself.
For a moment, Vox just stared at him. “So… I was your first?” He asked, just to be sure. His voice came out softer than he expected.
Alastor rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. “Yes, yes, congratulations, you stole my lip virginity. What an honor—”
But for Vox, it was. And, fuck, he wanted more. A wide grin spread across his face, electricity sparking along his antennae in excitement. “Oh, fuck, Al. Bambi, I love that. Please, let me show you—”
“Only if you keep that thing in your mouth!” Alastor gestured vaguely at Vox’s tongue, making a face.
Vox gawked at him. “Are you seriously gonna reject a make-out session because I used my tongue?!”
“Yes, actually!” Alastor huffed, crossing his arms. “I’ll only keep kissing you if you put that thing away.”
“I can’t put that thing away — it’s in my mouth!” Vox pouted, looking downright offended.
“Then keep your mouth closed. I don’t care!”
“Babe. Babe. Come on, it’s not that serious—”
“It is that serious!”
Vox groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Fine!” He tugged Alastor closer, tilting his screen up. “I’ll play nice,” he whispered against his lips before leaning in once more, slower this time.
True to his word, Vox kept the kiss gentle, letting Alastor get used to the sensation. He guided him carefully with slow, sensual movements, giving him time to find a rhythm and easing him into it rather than overwhelming him.
Alastor, for his part, was an eager learner, following Vox’s lead with a level of focus that was almost adorable. Vox could feel the moment he truly settled, when the tension in his frame ebbed away, and he finally melted into the moment rather than resisting it. That was when Vox let his hands wander, skimming down to rest at Alastor’s waist — not pressing, just existing there, a light presence against the fabric. He felt, rather than saw, the shiver that ran through him, and oh, that reaction was delicious.
Vox smirked against his lips, pleased with himself. He leaned back just enough to let them breathe, his half-lidded gaze drinking in the sight of his deer, pink-cheeked and slightly dazed. He barely resisted the urge to kiss that spot. “See? Not so bad, huh?”
“…I suppose not,” Alastor murmured, eyes drifting to Vox’s lips. His gaze lingered on the faint smudges his lips had left on the smooth screen. Slowly, he raised a hand, tracing his fingers absentmindedly over the wet spots. Vox hummed, nudging back against the touch playfully, pressing his lips against Alastor’s fingers like a kiss.
“Your physique truly is… unique,” Alastor whispered.
Vox chuckled, sliding a hand to the back of Alastor’s neck, gently pulling him closer, licking his lips in anticipation. “Glad you enjoy. Leave a 5-star review when you’re at it.”
Before Alastor could protest, they were kissing again. They continued kissing unhurriedly, exploring each other’s lips and settling into their rhythm. The longer they kissed, the more Alastor melted into him. His fingers gripped Vox’s jacket tighter, and his breath grew heavier with each passing moment.
Vox savored every second — especially the feeling of his love surrendering to the sensation and losing himself in it, the way he was slowly melting against him.
When they finally parted for air, Alastor barely pulled away, whispering softly against Vox’s lips, “You can… use your tongue now.”
Vox almost blue-screened on the spot.
Alastor, flushed and breathless, eyes glazed with desire, had never looked more tempting. His voice was lower than usual, just a whisper that trembled against Vox’s lips.
Somehow, Vox managed to keep it together just long enough to actually experience this moment.
Not that he had much time to process anything—Alastor was already leaning in again, clutching his jacket like he wanted to climb into his lap.
“Oh, Bambi…” Vox murmured before their lips met once more.
Vox shuddered when Alastor was the one to initiate this time, shyly pressing his tongue against Vox’s lips, and Vox eagerly obliged, flicking his own tongue along Alastor’s bottom lip before deepening the kiss.
Alastor didn’t flinch at the unfamiliar sensation this time. Instead, he opened up for him, inviting him to let Vox explore his mouth fully.
And fuck, if that wasn’t the best damn feeling in the world.
꧁🎔꧂
As their heated kisses gradually slowed, both were left a little breathless. Alastor pulled away with a pleased hum, though his fingers idly toyed with the lapels of Vox’s jacket, as if reluctant to sever all contact.
Vox, still catching his breath, took in the sight before him with no small amount of affection. Alastor’s lips were kissed red from where Vox had nipped at them earlier, and his tail — which Vox had insisted on pulling out halfway through their make-out session just to play with — flicked in a contented rhythm as Alastor settled back against him.
“Well!” Alastor chirped once his breath steadied. “That was quite fun, wasn’t it?” Vox didn’t miss the slight huskiness still clinging to his voice, and it filled him with satisfaction.
He let out a breathless chuckle. “Yeah? Did you enjoy your first lesson?”
Alastor tilted his head playfully. “I suppose you are… decent at this,” he teased, watching with amusement how Vox immediately pouted, rolling his eyes. They both knew better. Alastor’s lust-glazed expression told another story entirely. Before Vox could point that out, Alastor added smoothly, “I do believe we have a movie to finish, no?”
Vox blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “A… movie? What movie?”
Alastor smirked at his dazed expression, tapping a single claw against his chin. “Yes, my dear, the movie we were watching before Valentino so rudely interrupted us, and you decided to distract me with all this carnal affection—”
“Yeah, uh—” Vox ran a hand down his face. “Small issue with that, my deer.” He gestured toward the shattered remains of his expensive TV across the room. “We don’t have a functioning screen anymore.”
Alastor followed Vox’s gesture to the wreckage, then turned back to him, his grin only growing.
“Oh?” he hummed playfully before leaning in to press a soft kiss to the spot where Vox’s nose would’ve been if he had one. “I’m looking at a perfectly functional screen right now,” he purred.
Despite the ridiculousness, Vox felt warmth creeping up on his display. “You—” He tried covering his flustered expression with one hand, but Alastor caught it, pulling it down before climbing into his lap without warning.
“Now, now, no hiding,” Alastor teased, settling comfortably against him. “Be a dear and play the movie for me, won’t you?”
Vox sputtered. “You seriously want to watch a movie on my face?”
“Why not?” Alastor shrugged, entirely at ease as he nestled closer, nuzzling into a more comfortable position. His tail gave the tiniest, happiest wag. “I think it’s rather fitting! You are the television demon, after all.”
“And how am I supposed to watch it with you?”
“Just watch through one of those countless cameras of yours,” Alastor chuckled.
Vox sighed, rolling his eyes but relenting nonetheless. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, and the film appeared on his screen. “But only because you’re cute — and because I’m feeling pretty damn content after getting to shove my tongue down your eager little throat.”
Alastor didn’t dignify that with a response; his attention had already zeroed in on the screen as the movie resumed. Nestled against Vox’s chest, he focused intently on the bloodshed unfolding. He adjusted himself to find the most comfortable position until Vox leaned back obediently to let him settle halfway on top of him.
Vox had transferred his vision to the camera pointed directly at them, but he wasn’t watching the movie at all.
How could he, when Alastor was right there, warm against him, curled up in his lap like he belonged there? He soaked in every little detail: the way Alastor’s ears twitched in response to distant sounds, the absentminded way his fingers toyed with the fabric of Vox’s jacket, and most of all — the subtle, unconscious wag of his tail that showed how much he enjoyed their closeness.
It was infuriatingly endearing. He was so fucking gone for this man.
While Alastor remained absorbed in whatever was happening in the movie, Vox couldn’t get enough of watching them together like this — especially the unique view of Alastor mesmerizingly staring at the screen that was his face. From this angle, the sight was something he’d never forget.
Without thinking, Vox’s arms coiled around Alastor, pulling him gently against his chest in a soft, lingering hug. Vox might be the screen, but at that moment, Alastor was the only thing worth watching.
“Something on your mind, darling?” Alastor asked, shifting slightly as he felt himself being pressed down to rest entirely on Vox.
“Oh, nothing,” Vox murmured, squeezing him a little tighter. “Just thinking about how cute you look when you’re happy.”
Alastor blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. Cute wasn’t exactly a word often associated with him. But to Vox’s absolute delight, his tail wagged involuntarily at the unexpected compliment.
Huffing lightly, Alastor rested his chin on Vox’s chest. Vox, ever accommodating, tilted his head down further to maintain a good view for him. But now, it seemed Alastor wasn’t focusing on the movie either.
“You know…” Alastor began after a moment, his fingers trailing up Vox’s chest in a slow, suggestive manner. “I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing all my firsts with you tonight…”
The movie disappeared the moment Vox short-circuited on the fucking spot.
Alastor had the audacity to look smug. He watched the malfunctioning demon beneath him with unconcealed satisfaction, enjoying how his screen glitched uncontrollably for a solid five seconds.
“—Wh—” Several system warnings and error messages flickered across the display before Vox finally regained his composure and his face reappeared. “Oh my God,” he wheezed. “Alastor, you cannot just say shit like that out of fucking nowhere.”
“Why not?” Alastor teased, his grin wicked as he watched Vox’s flustered reaction with undisguised amusement.
Vox groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. “Because I wasn’t ready for that level of mental imagery, holy fuck.”
Alastor chuckled darkly. “And are you now?”
Vox shot him a playful glare — before suddenly reaching for the damn cock ring he’d tossed aside earlier, holding it up between two fingers with an insufferable smirk.
“Well, in that case,” he purred, twirling it between his fingers, “I could make this part of your gift, too. I’d be more than happy to show you how it’s used…”
Alastor’s reaction was immediate. He shoved a hand against Vox’s face, pushing him back with enough force to elicit a startled laugh, feeling the soft vibration of Vox’s laugh and his warm breath ghosting against his palm. “Absolutely not.”
“Aw, c’mon baby, don’t knock it ‘til you try it!”
“Vox, I swear—”
Vox’s laughter echoed as he circled his arms around Alastor, pressing a gentle kiss to one of his fluffy ears. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll take it slow.”
Alastor relaxed into his embrace, his tail still wagging happily despite his annoyance. “You truly are shameless, aren’t you?” he mused, tapping an accusatory finger against Vox’s chest.
Vox grinned. “I’ve waited for-fucking-ever for this moment, so excuse my eagerness. Besides, you love it. Don’t even try to lie. I see your little happy tail wags.”
Alastor hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head as if considering. “Well… I suppose I must, if I’m still here, enduring all of your nonsense.”
And damn, Vox knew that was as close to a love confession as he’d ever get. A sudden wave of utter happiness washed over him, rendering all previous anxieties irrelevant. Despite all the chaos of the evening and all the things that went wrong, all the little fuck-ups, this Valentine’s Day wasn’t ruined at all.
When Vox got up from the couch, effortlessly scooping Alastor into his arms to carry him to his bedroom (making sure to take the cock ring with them without Alastor noticing), he couldn’t have been happier. Turns out, he didn’t need a fancy dinner, or flowers and candles, or even expensive chocolates and gifts — the things he had always deemed necessary in past relationships.
This — they — were more than enough. When he had Alastor, everything else felt redundant. The world was okay when it was just them.
He had spent so long waiting, agonizing, doubting. But now? There was no room for doubt left. Not when Alastor had laid everything out for him, in his own complicated, perfectly Alastor way. Vox had thought he needed to convince him, to win him over, to make him want this… want him.
But Alastor had wanted him all along.
They weren’t perfect. Maybe not even normal. But they were them.
And that was enough. It had always been enough.