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“Vox, my back itches,” Alastor complained. Vox's gaze traveled from the gleam of the blue floating screen projections in front of him to Alastor's red frame. The sight of the wire restraints around Alastor both aroused him and elicited a small amount of pity.
Deal with it, he wanted to say. Alastor was such a prick to him, after all. But he knew he couldn't — just like he couldn't bring himself to physically hurt Alastor during his imprisonment.
With a sigh, he got to his feet and unwrapped Alastor from his bindings. Alastor's shoulders did a relieved wiggle, and Vox heard them pop. A small tinge of guilt gnawed at him.
“Where does it itch?” Vox asked, standing behind Alastor, who stood up and stretched, joints cracking. “My left shoulder blade,” Alastor replied. Vox dutifully scratched the area with his sharp, talon-like fingers, drawing a pleased shiver from Alastor. Vox couldn't help but smile.
“Ah, perfect,” Alastor cooed. “You know, you don't have to keep me restrained. I couldn't break our deal if I tried — and I wouldn't anyway. I'm a man of my word, as you know,” Alastor explained.
“We can keep them off for now,” Vox said, settling back into his chair. Alastor curiously walked behind Vox to watch him work.
“Can I ask you a question, Al?” Vox asked, turning away from his work to face Alastor.
“I have a feeling you're going to ask me regardless,” Alastor said with his ever-present smile, his grin taking on a condescending, but playful element.
Vox continued undeterred. Alastor was frustratingly right as usual.
“You know, in the entire time I've known you, I've never seen you with anyone. Which, I assume, is a personal choice, but…Can I ask why?” Vox asked, tilting his head curiously at Alastor.
Alastor sighed. “I'll explain it this way…” he began, "Let's suppose that everyone around you loves — what's an example of a dish that you dislike?”
“Um…peas?”
“You would pick peas…”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
A spark of electricity twisted down the side of Vox's screen as he spoke. As usual, Alastor ignored it.
“Let's suppose everyone around you loves peas and thinks that you should as well. They talk about it often. Everywhere you go, there are advertisements related to peas or the desire for peas. And every time you meet someone lovely and go to dinner with them, they order you peas.” He gestured with his microphone staff as he spoke, its sheen reflecting the light as it waved around.
“You don't know how to explain that you don't like peas,” he continued, getting lost in the metaphor, “Because the very idea seems preposterous to them. In fact, they assume the fact that you don't like peas means that you don't want to be around them at all.”
Alastor's eyes darkened before he went on, “And peas are more important to everyone else than your company anyway, because once they find out you don't like peas, their interest dissipates. So, you learn to be content alone…” He looked at Vox's glowing screen, and the glint of emotion in his eyes made Alastor look away again. He couldn't quite put a name to the emotion Vox's face portrayed, but suffice it to say that he had his full attention, despite the lackluster pea metaphor.
“And then someone you get along with wants to eat peas with you, and you realize they're just like everyone else. All this time, you enjoyed their company — and thought they enjoyed yours as well — and then you find out you were just part of their pursuit of peas. You feel used,” Alastor continued, looking everywhere but at Vox's face, lest it pull an emotional reaction from him.
“But you…you start to wonder if you should just eat the peas for the other person's sake, but you know that if you did, you wouldn't be able to look at your companion again without remembering that disgusting taste. So you curse yourself for letting yourself care. And you remind yourself that they're all the same. Even the…”
Alastor glanced back at Vox despite himself and saw that Vox’s red eyes were large and his gaze was fixed on Alastor’s. He was transfixed, listening intently. Alastor sighed before adding, “Even the ones you enjoy spending time with.”
He wanted to crawl out of his skin like a cicada shedding its shell. Was this vulnerability? Disgusting.
“Alastor,” Vox said, reaching out, but stopping himself as Alastor cringed at the sight. Vox let his hand fall back onto his lap.
“I never wanted to…eat peas…with you unless you wanted to. You are worth so much more to me than just some sexual conquest. I wanted to be partners because I cared about you. I wanted to share my life with you. Fuck peas,” he said with a breathy laugh, pushing back his antennas the way he used to push back his hair.
“I'm a grown man,” he added. "I can eat peas on my own or find someone else to eat peas with, as long as that doesn't bother you. But the time I spend with you is…important to me,” Vox confessed, “You…are important to me.”
“That's what they all say, but it's never true,” Alastor scoffed.
Vox stood and reached his hand out to Alastor, giving him the option to refuse or accept the gesture. This seemed to please Alastor, who took his hand, much to his surprise, with a bittersweet smile. His red-tipped fingers were smooth and warm. Comforting.
Alastor's eyes fell to their hands. There was a touch of profound, familiar sadness in his eyes that made Vox's heart wrench. He turned their hands as he spoke.
“You really think I'd still be here if I were only in this for sex? I mean, shit, I've stuck around for the better half of a century without expecting to…eat peas together, haven't I? Have a little faith, Al,” he said with a gentle but slightly cynical smile.
“Has anyone ever gone 70 years without pressuring you to eat peas, Alastor? Because I think that person might be the one who genuinely cares. Hell, I've let you beat the shit out of me so many times I've lost count — because it meant I could see your face again…” he said, a line of light falling across his cheeks in a way that could have been an error or a trick of the light, but Alastor knew what a blush looked like on Vox's electronic face.
Alastor felt the prick of tears in the corners of his eyes. Must be allergies, he thought to himself, blinking them away. He didn't know what else to do, so he laid his head on Vox's shoulder to show some form of affection he was comfortable with.
“I know you don't like peas, but how do you feel about carrots?” Vox asked.
“What?” Alastor laughed, raising his head from Vox's shoulder. Vox waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, I'm not as good with metaphors as you are, Al. I wanted to know if I could kiss you. But it's OK if the answer is no,” he admitted.
Alastor smiled. “I don't mind carrots, actually,” he chuckled, bringing his lips to meet Vox's surprisingly soft mouth. Vox cradled Alastor's cheek as he pressed his lips deeper into Alastor's. Alastor hadn't done much of this type of thing because the expectation of…peas…had been attached. But free of that looming pressure, he allowed himself to get lost in the feeling. The warm feel of Vox's screen, his impossibly tender lips, his hand still wrapped around Alastor's, and his other hand holding Alastor's cheek.
Alastor broke the kiss first, flashing a genuine smile at Vox, who smiled back. Alastor playfully flicked one of Vox’s antennas. “You know,” Alastor said, eyes glowing with relief, “I think I could get used to carrots.”