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Vox was avoiding Alastor. He told himself for days that he wasn’t; he was just busy, having fully—or almost fully—regained control of VoxTek, because Valentino and Velvette kept asking for reports and supervision of what he did, as if they understood anything he wrote in those reports. He told himself the work was too much and took up too much—or all—of his time.
One would think that when the alpha you’ve been in love with for decades (not obsessed, everyone was wrong) finally looks at you, pays attention to you like before, smiles at you like before, and wants you close like before, the only thing you’d want is to be with him. And that was mostly true; that’s all Vox would want. If it weren’t for one small detail.
Alastor was bad in bed.
This fact still didn’t fully connect in Vox’s mind because “Alastor” and “bad at…” were two phrases that shouldn’t go in the same sentence. Alastor wasn’t bad at anything—except maybe having empathy and technology, but both of those were intentional choices on Alastor’s part.
That he was bad at this, of all things, was a bit disappointing. It wasn’t that Vox was a sex addict like Valentino, but come on. Decades of dreaming about and desiring this alpha had built expectations. There was also the fact that Alastor kissed like he spoke—sensual, enveloping, leaving him trembling and always wanting more. Plus, the bulge he’d felt in his pants was definitely big; it promised things. Of course Vox had expectations.
The night they finally had sex, Vox was practically vibrating with excitement, and everything started perfectly. It was in Alastor’s radio tower, just the two of them like old times. The drinks relaxed them and made them laugh; they danced surprisingly well for how much alcohol they’d had, and the kisses—fuck, the kisses.
They were perfect, hot, devouring. Vox moaned as he was guided to the bedroom and was ready to be taken, possessed, fucked in the most delicious way possible.
He didn’t expect his clothes to be ripped off immediately. He didn’t expect to be spun around and thrown onto the bed face down. He thought foreplay would come next—spanking, kisses on his back, bites on his neck, anything to get him hotter and soak his cunt.
There was none of that.
Alastor undressed himself, and Vox couldn’t even admire that body he’d been dreaming of for decades. Alastor pushed his face into the pillow and rubbed his hard cock against Vox’s cunt. Vox moaned and figured they’d skipped foreplay because they were both impatient. That was fine, as long as Alastor gave him an orgasm that would leave his mind blank.
The first thrust made him moan. It was direct and on target, but the ones that followed were the same—fast, mechanical, without rhythm, without a pattern, without varying speed or angles. Vox shifted his hips, trying to guide that cock to the exact spot where he needed it, where he wanted it, but Alastor must have interpreted that as wanting more and gripped his hips hard, moving faster.
Vox had no idea what to do. Stop Alastor and tell him he wasn’t feeling anything? Tell him he was very, very far from an orgasm? No, of course not. Instead, he buried his face in the pillow and started faking moans so well that all of Valentino’s stars would look like amateurs next to him. When he felt Alastor getting close, when he felt his muscles tense and his thrusts quicken, Vox arched his back and screamed, faking an orgasm worthy of a Hollywood star.
Alastor collapsed beside him, kissed his nape, and pulled him close, whispering, “That was wonderful, mon cher. I would definitely not be opposed to doing it again.”
Vox had smiled, nodded, and accepted the kiss that followed those words.
He didn’t sleep that night. While Alastor slept peacefully with that proud smile, Vox stared at the wall on the other side, still trying to understand those words.
Alastor was bad in bed.
-------------------------------
It wasn’t that Vox believed sex was the most important thing in a relationship. Of course not. To be with Alastor, he was willing to live a life without sex.
The problem was that Alastor had said he wouldn’t be opposed to repeating it, and his suggestive touches were proof that he genuinely wanted to do it again.
And it wasn’t that Vox didn’t want to. It wasn’t that he didn’t yearn to touch him and be with him.
That was the most fucked-up part of it all. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see him. On the contrary: Vox needed to see him. He needed to hear his voice, he needed his kisses, he needed the way Alastor laughed with that genuine, static-filled sound that no one else could elicit. Months, no—decades of fights, humiliations, tears, and screams had led to this point, and Vox had enjoyed every second of what they shared.
But Vox didn’t know if he could fake it again.
Not again. Not with the same conviction. Not with the same hope that maybe, if he closed his eyes hard enough, the pleasure would appear.
His body still remembered the discomfort. His throat still remembered the fake moans. His mind still remembered Alastor’s proud smile afterward, and how that smile had tightened something inside him that he hadn’t known could hurt so much.
So yes, maybe he was avoiding things a little. But not Alastor. He was avoiding that conversation. He was avoiding having to sit down with the alpha and say: Hey, the other night was terrible for me, can we talk about what you did wrong? Because Alastor wasn’t exactly known for his ability to receive criticism with grace.
The deer’s pride was a huge, dangerous beast. Vox had seen him get enraged over less. He’d seen his smile turn sharp, his eyes darken, his voice fill with that condescending tone that could destroy anyone.
Vox didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that version of Alastor. Not now that they finally had something good.
So he filled his schedule. He invented meetings. He replied to emails at two in the morning so he could say, with complete honesty, that he’d been working. When Alastor invited him to something, Vox accepted lunch, coffee, a fifteen-minute walk through the park. But when the conversation turned toward the evening—toward dinners, toward repeating—Vox would find a brilliant excuse and say goodbye with a kiss on the cheek and a smile he hoped didn’t look as forced as it felt.
Three weeks.
Three weeks of excuses that grew thinner by the day. Three weeks of watching Alastor’s smile stay in place but something in his eyes begin to change. Three weeks of feeling the ground beneath his feet slowly crack.
And then Alastor showed up at his office.
The door opened without anyone announcing him, because of course it did. VoxTek’s employees had already learned not to get between the Radio Demon and whatever destination he’d chosen. The receptionists simply stepped aside. The security guards found something very interesting to look at in another direction.
Vox looked up from his tablet and felt his screen brighten a shade more from the sheer sight of Alastor crossing the threshold.
He looked impeccable, as always. The dark red suit, his hair perfectly styled, that damn smile that Vox knew so well he could draw it from memory. His ears twitched slightly as he scanned the office, and when his eyes found Vox behind the desk, the smile widened.
“Mon cher.”
“Alastor.” Vox set the tablet down on the desk and leaned back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Must I always be expected to appear?” Alastor walked toward the desk with that feline elegance of his, his steps barely making a sound on the carpet. “I’ve come to invite you to lunch. I’ve found a place.”
Vox nodded before Alastor even finished the sentence. “Sure. Let’s go.”
The response was so immediate that even he surprised himself. But it was the truth: he wanted to have lunch with Alastor. He wanted to sit across from him, listen to his exaggerated stories about the demons he’d humiliated that week, laugh at his sarcastic comments. That was easy. That was safe.
Alastor tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Excellent. I thought perhaps you might be too busy.”
“Never too busy for lunch.” Vox rose from his chair, stretching his arms above his head in a gesture he hoped looked casual. “What time?”
“Now.”
“Now.” Vox glanced at his tablet, where three unread emails still waited. He ignored them. “Let’s go.”
But when he rounded the desk to reach Alastor, the other demon didn’t move toward the door. Instead, he looked at Vox with those red eyes that always seemed to see more than Vox wanted to show.
“Of course,” Alastor said, in a tone that tried to sound casual but had something sharp around the edges, “if you’re as busy as you’ve been lately, we could skip lunch for another day and have dinner instead. Tonight, perhaps.”
Vox felt his body freeze momentarily.
“Dinner?” He laughed, and the sound came out more natural than he expected. “Oh, love, I’m going to be working late tonight. Probably until midnight, maybe one in the morning. This project isn’t going to finish itself.”
The laugh was easy. The lie, too. He was already an expert.
Alastor raised an eyebrow.
The gesture was small, almost imperceptible. But Vox knew it. He’d spent too much time observing Alastor, learning every micro-expression, every movement of his ears, every change in the brightness of his eyes. That raised eyebrow wasn’t curiosity. It was skepticism.
“Until one?” Alastor repeated the words as if tasting them, searching for the flavor of truth in them.
“Work waits for no one.” Vox shrugged, trying to look unconcerned.
Alastor said nothing. Instead, he slowly rounded the desk.
Vox watched him approach, and his first instinct was to step back. He didn’t. He forced himself to stay still, to keep his screen steady, to show no sign that Alastor’s approach was churning his stomach, even though he no longer knew if it was from desire or panic.
When Alastor was beside him, inches away, he stopped. His smile was still in place, but there was something different about it. Something sharper.
“You know, darling,” he said, and the word sounded like both a caress and a warning, “if I didn’t know you, I’d think you were avoiding me.”
Vox’s heart jumped so violently that for a moment he feared Alastor could hear it.
He laughed. It was the only thing that came to mind. The laugh came out light and almost perfect.
“Avoiding you?” He shook his head, waving his hands in a broad gesture he hoped looked sincere. “No, darling, of course not. It’s just… I have a lot of work now that I’ve mostly regained control of VoxTek. You know how it is. When I was gone, everything got a bit disorganized, and now I have to…” He made a vague gesture toward the piles of papers and tablets on the desk, “…restore order.”
Alastor didn’t move. He didn’t step back. His eyes remained fixed on Vox’s screen, as if he could read through it what his mouth wasn’t saying.
“I’m sure your company could survive one night without you.”
The sentence wasn’t a question. It was a statement, delivered in a tone that left no room for argument. But Vox tried to argue anyway.
“Well, yes, probably, but…”
Alastor took another step. Vox, without thinking, stepped back. His back hit the edge of the desk.
“One night, Vox.” Alastor frowned slightly. It wasn’t a full frown, but it was enough. A small furrow between his brows, a barely perceptible hardening at the edge of his lips. “I don’t think I’m asking for too much.”
Vox fumbled on the desk and found his tablet. He picked it up, holding it between them like a shield.
“I know, I know. And honestly, I’d love to, but…” His fingers drummed on the edge of the tablet. “…look, how about we have lunch today and save dinner for another day. When I have more time. When things here calm down.”
“When?”
The question was simple, direct, and Vox didn’t have a ready answer.
“Soon.”
“Soon when?”
“Soon soon.” Vox smiled, hoping his screen projected enough warmth to mask the lack of substance in his words. “You know. Soon.”
Alastor looked at him in silence for three seconds that felt like three hours.
Then, with a quick movement that Vox didn’t anticipate, Alastor lowered the tablet. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the device and pushed it down, leaving the space between them completely empty. He leaned forward, closing the distance until Vox could feel his breath against his screen.
“You don’t want to spend a night with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
Alastor’s tone was flat. Neutral. But his eyes… his eyes gleamed with something Vox couldn’t interpret. Anger? Disappointment? Something deeper that he couldn’t name?
And Vox opened his mouth to respond. To deny it. To invent another brilliant excuse that would return them to safe ground where he didn’t have to talk about that night, about the sheets, about the faked moans and his body trembling without pleasure.
But Alastor didn’t give him time.
The alpha’s lips were on his before Vox could form a single word. One hand found his waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt, and the other slid to the small of his back, pulling him forward.
And Vox melted.
It was instantaneous. It was embarrassing how quickly he gave in. But it was inevitable.
His hands released the tablet, which fell to the floor with a dull thud that neither of them heard, and clutched at the lapels of Alastor’s suit. He sighed against that mouth he’d missed so much, as his body responded to the kiss with an urgency his mind couldn’t control.
Because Alastor kissed like he was going to devour him and adore him at the same time.
His tongue moved against Vox’s with a skill that made everything else disappear. The work. The excuses. That damn night. It all dissolved in the pressure of those lips, in the heat of that hand on his waist, in the sound of Alastor’s breath mingling with his own.
When Alastor finally broke the kiss, Vox was gasping. Literally gasping, his body pressed against the other’s and his fingers still clinging to his suit as if letting go would make him fall.
“Vox.” Alastor’s voice was lower than usual, and his smile had regained some of its customary warmth. “Tell me you’re not avoiding me.”
Vox blinked. His screen cycled through a few colors quickly before stabilizing at its usual brightness.
“I’m not avoiding you.”
It was true. Because it wasn’t Alastor he was avoiding. It was the conversation. It was the possibility of disappointing him. It was having to look into those red eyes and tell him that something he had considered wonderful had been the complete opposite for Vox.
Alastor watched him for a long moment. Then, slowly, his arms tightened around Vox’s waist, pulling him fully against his chest.
“Tonight,” he said, and this time it wasn’t a question. It was a statement. “We’ll have dinner. And then… we’ll talk.”
Vox felt his insides tighten.
“Talk?”
“Talk.” Alastor tilted his head, and his smile grew slightly sharper. “Because something is going on with you, my dear. And I don’t like being lied to.”
Vox wanted to deny it. Wanted to laugh, look away, invent another excuse. But his lips didn’t move. His hands were still clutching Alastor’s suit, and his body was still pressed against his, and all he could think about was how much he loved that damn manipulative deer.
“Tonight,” Vox repeated, finally.
Alastor nodded, satisfied.
“Perfect.”
He kissed him again, more softly this time, and Vox closed his eyes and let himself sink into the kiss.
For now, there was only the heat of Alastor against his body, the pressure of his lips, and the weak, persistent hope that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.
Or at least, that he would survive to tell the tale.
The tablet remained on the floor, its screen cracked and static flickering weakly.
Vox didn’t pick it up until Alastor left, an hour later, with the promise to return at eight o’clock sharp.
And when he did, when he held the cracked device between his fingers, he wondered if his relationship with Alastor would end the same way.
Broken. Forgotten on the floor. Beyond repair, Or maybe, just maybe, the cracks could be filled with something stronger.
But that, he thought as he put the tablet in a drawer and sat back down at his desk, was a problem for a few hours from now.
----------------------------------
The radio tower had returned to its original place.
Not the hotel, not that borrowed building that never felt like his own. Alastor had moved it back to his old home, the one Vox knew so well he could walk through it with his eyes closed. The same entrance with wooden floors that creaked in specific places. The same living room with the record player in the corner and the jazz records stacked in meticulous order. The same smell of moss, old wood, whiskey—of Alastor.
Vox took a deep breath as he crossed the threshold and felt his entire body relax. He had missed this place. Missed it more than he was willing to admit out loud.
"You like it." Alastor closed the door behind them with a soft thud. It wasn't a question.
"I love it." Vox spun around, letting his fingers brush against the mantle of the unlit fireplace. "You never should have left this place."
"The hotel had... its charm." Alastor approached him with that unhurried elegance Vox knew so well. "But it's true. There's no place like home."
The kitchen was where the real magic happened. Vox tried to help, to chop something, to at least set the table. But he'd barely touched a knife when Alastor pulled him away with a kiss so sudden and devastating that his screen flickered. His lips captured Vox's with a precision that left his display stuttering, and when he pulled back, his hand came down in a sharp slap that echoed through the kitchen with a dry crack.
Vox let out a choked moan that he tried to disguise as a laugh.
"That wasn't fair."
"The kitchen is my domain, darling. Sit and observe."
He wasn't going to lie. He had liked the slap. Perhaps too much.
The food was, as always when Alastor cooked, almost a religious experience. The bowl of jambalaya steamed in clay bowls, the freshly baked bread crackled under their fingers, and the wine—because Alastor had decided whiskey was for later—had a deep, fruity flavor that slid smoothly down his throat, leaving a sweet trail on his lips.
They drank more than they should have. Or exactly what they should have, depending on how you looked at it.
And then came the dancing.
The record player was spilling a slow jazz melody, the kind Alastor loved and Vox had learned to love only because they were his. Alastor took him by the waist with one hand, the other intertwined with his, and they began to move through the room with the ease of those who had spent decades learning each other's steps.
Dancing had always been part of them. As much as the fights, the shouting, the blows that had once been real and were now just choreography of a different kind. Vox let himself be led, trusting Alastor to guide him, and when he spun him sharply only to pull him back against his chest, Vox let out a laugh that sounded free, almost youthful.
Their lips met.
Vox sighed into the kiss, melting as he had so many times before. His arms came up to wrap around Alastor's neck, his fingers finding the back of his head, and everything was fine. Everything was perfect.
Until he felt them start to move.
Not left, not right, not in the wide circle the melody demanded. Forward. Toward the hallway. Toward the bedroom.
Vox tensed.
He pulled his lips from Alastor's with a motion he tried to make seem natural, turning his body just as the deer tried to guide him past the doorframe.
"Another song." His voice came out brighter than he felt. "We should dance another song."
Alastor stopped moving, but didn't let go of his hand. Instead, he squeezed tighter and pulled Vox back against him, their bodies pressing together again.
"We could do another kind of dancing," he murmured, and his voice was a low purr that went straight to Vox's core and set him ablaze. "A more... pleasurable one."
He was so sexy. God damn it, he was so incredibly sexy that Vox felt his knees weaken, his screen brighten with a blush, all his excuses and fears begin to crumble.
Maybe it had just been a bad night. The first time. Alastor was old-fashioned; old-fashioned people knew things, and the first time was always awkward. Yes. That was it. A bad night. A fluke. Something that wouldn't happen again.
With his knees trembling and his heart pounding against his chest, he let Alastor wrap both arms around him. Let him guide him toward the hallway. Let the alpha's hand find his nape, tilting his head for another kiss.
This time it was deeper. Slower. Their tongues tangled in a dance that needed no music, and Vox moaned against his mouth, his fingers threading through the hair at Alastor's nape, pulling gently, feeling how it made him tighten his grip.
He was so lost in the kiss that he didn't feel the exact moment Alastor turned him.
The pressure on his shoulders was sudden. Alastor's hands pushed him forward, and Vox fell onto the mattress with surprise still painted on his face. He fell face-down, his hands grabbing at the blankets by pure instinct, and he heard behind him the sound of Alastor undressing.
Clothes falling to the floor. The sound of a belt buckle. The creak of the bed as the alpha climbed onto it.
Vox turned quickly, rolling onto his back just as Alastor positioned himself over him. The deer's shadow covered him completely, his arms on either side of Vox's head, his red eyes gleaming in the dimness of the bedroom.
Alastor's hands went straight to his shirt. Buttons flew with a sharp yank, and the sound of tearing fabric made Vox let out a moan that surprised even himself.
Fuck, that—that was completely sexy.
But when Alastor's hands moved down to his pants, Vox acted.
He wrapped his arms around the deer's neck and pulled him down, capturing his lips in a kiss meant to be devouring but was also, secretly, a pause. When he pulled back, he let his lips brush Alastor's cheek as he spoke.
"We don't have to rush." His voice was a whisper, as soft as he could make it. "We have all night."
For a moment, it worked.
Alastor lost himself in the kiss Vox offered. His hands, once so direct, became exploratory. They traced Vox's sides with a slowness that made the omega arch into them. They were large, warm, and when they moved down to his thighs, Vox felt his insides clench in anticipation. When they moved up to his hips, Vox arched his back, offering himself, needing—
And then Alastor grabbed his hips and tried to turn him again.
Vox pulled away from the kiss with a sharp movement.
"I don't want that position."
His voice came out sharper than intended. The irritation he'd been suppressing for three weeks reared its head, and though he tried to soften it, the damage was done.
Alastor pulled back.
The change was immediate. His weight on Vox disappeared, replaced by a cold space that Vox felt as a physical loss. Alastor had pushed up onto his arms, his hands still braced on either side of Vox's head, but his body was no longer pressing against his.
He blinked. Once. Twice, slowly.
His lips were swollen from kissing, his hair slightly disheveled from Vox's fingers. But what made the omega's chest tighten was seeing his ears—usually so proud and erect—flatten against his head.
"You liked that position last time," he murmured, and there was something in his tone Vox couldn't identify. Confusion, perhaps. Insecurity. Something Alastor never, ever let show.
Vox softened.
Because it was adorable.
Damn it, Alastor shouldn't be adorable. Alastor was the Radio Demon, the terror of the Pentagram, an alpha who had built his reputation on sharp smiles and bones crunching under his feet. He shouldn't be there, with his ears drooped and his lips swollen and an expression Vox could only describe as a freshly hit Bambi.
Vox took his face in his hands. His screen projected a warm light over Alastor's features as he pulled him down for another kiss. Softer this time. More careful.
When he pulled back, he let his fingers stroke the deer's cheeks.
"No, Honey." The word came out with a heaviness that tightened his throat. "Last time, I didn't like it that way." He paused, swallowing static. "It was... bad for me."
The effect was immediate.
Alastor frowned. His smile, always so wide, so confident, tightened into something sharper, more dangerous. But it wasn't anger Vox saw in his eyes. It was something more complex. Something he'd never seen on his face before.
"Bad?" Alastor repeated, as if the word made no sense in his language. "It was bad?" He pushed himself up a little more, the distance between them increasing. "But you were moaning... and you had a..."
His voice trailed off. Vox knew what he was going to say. An orgasm. Because Alastor had heard it, felt it, believed it.
Vox shook his head slowly.
"I faked it."
Alastor blinked.
Vox watched the words hit the alpha, saw his eyes widen just a millimeter before the smile reasserted itself, tighter than ever. His hands, which had been braced on either side of Vox, began to lift. To pull away.
"Is that why..." Alastor's voice was strangely flat. "Is that why you've been avoiding me these past weeks?"
Vox nodded.
There was nothing more to say. It was the truth, and Alastor deserved to hear it even if it hurt.
And then Vox felt it.
Alastor's scent had always been something the omega knew as well as his own electricity. Moss. Wood after rain. A trace of whiskey that never quite disappeared. It was a smell Vox had inhaled to obsession for decades, had yearned for in his loneliest moments, had learned to associate with everything that meant home.
Now that scent turned heavy.
It wasn't anger. Vox knew Alastor's anger, had faced it dozens of times. It smelled like burned wood, like something ancient and dangerous. This was different. This was denser, damper, like the air before a storm that never quite breaks.
It was sadness.
The sadness of an alpha who had just learned he had failed at the most basic thing.
Alastor tried to move away. Vox felt his weight shift, felt his arms begin to lift from the bed, and something inside him broke. His hands moved before his brain could process it, catching Alastor's hands between his own.
"Wait."
Alastor stopped. He didn't look at him.
"I'm sorry." Vox's voice came out rougher than he expected. "I know I shouldn't have lied to you. I should have told you the truth that same night. But..." He squeezed his fingers around Alastor's hands. "I didn't want this to break between us. Not after..."
He paused and swallowed.
"Not after decades of wanting to be with you. Decades of loving you."
The words fell between them like stones in a pond. Vox felt Alastor's scent waver, change, become less dense. Finally, he looked at him, and his expression was so complex Vox couldn't read it.
But his hands didn't try to pull away again.
Alastor let out a laugh. It wasn't his usual laugh, the one he used to mock or intimidate. It was lower, more bitter, something Vox had never heard directed at him.
"So I'm bad in bed." The words came out as a statement, not a question. "I didn't know." His ears were still flattened, and Vox felt an almost overwhelming urge to smooth them with his fingers. "But I should have guessed."
He paused. His eyes drifted to the side, toward the curtain-covered window, toward nowhere in particular.
"I had very few sexual encounters before you." The confession came out in a murmur, as if Alastor was speaking more to himself than to Vox. "And none of them were... for me, it was just physical release. I didn't bother to learn properly."
Vox recognized the tone. It was the same one Alastor used when talking about his limitations with technology—that disdain for something he considered beneath him. But there was something else. Something Vox had never heard in his voice before.
Shame.
The mighty Alastor, the Radio Demon, the alpha who walked through Hell as if it belonged to him, was ashamed that he didn't know how to please his omega.
Vox leaned toward him. His hands released Alastor's only to find a better grip, and with a slow movement that made it clear he wasn't going to be rejected, he climbed into his lap. His knees sank into the mattress on either side of the deer's hips, and his arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into an embrace that left no room for doubt.
"That's not a problem." Vox brought his screen to Alastor's cheek, letting the heat of his surface seep against the deer's skin. "I can teach you, my love."
Alastor raised an eyebrow. The incredulity in his expression was tinged with something Vox dared to call amusement.
"Teach me?"
Vox nodded. His eyes lit up with an almost playful gleam.
"Just think about it, Al." He let his fingers stroke the alpha's nape, feeling him tense slightly under his touch. "If you enjoyed that night so much, if you were convinced it was 'wonderful,' it'll be infinitely better when we both enjoy it."
Alastor's ears perked up slightly. Vox noticed the change and smiled.
"You won't be a bad student." He lowered one hand, letting his fingers trace that slightly tense neck. "You kiss incredibly. You've already mastered that."
Alastor made a low sound, something between a growl and a purr, that Vox felt vibrate against his chest.
"And this..." Vox lowered his hips, pressing himself against Alastor's groin in a slow movement that made them both inhale at the same time. The bulge he felt under the fabric of Alastor's unfastened pants was everything he remembered: large, promising, something Vox had desired for years even before knowing he could have it. "This is big enough to reach all the right places. With the right angle."
Alastor's breathing had grown deeper. His hands, which had been still at his sides, found Vox's hips with a grip that wasn't yet possessive, but promised to become so.
Vox looked at him. His screen glowed with an intensity that made Alastor's red eyes look almost crimson.
"Let me teach you," he said, and his voice was pleading now, open in a way he never allowed himself to be with anyone else. "Please, Al. Let me show you how I want you to touch me."
The silence stretched. Vox felt each second elongate, felt his fingers tense against Alastor's nape, felt his entire body waiting.
And then Alastor laughed.
It wasn't his bitter laugh from before. It was softer, more genuine. His hands tightened on Vox's hips with a pressure that made the omega arch involuntarily.
"You are insolent," Alastor murmured, and there was affection in his voice, so much affection that Vox felt his heart might burst. "Decades of insisting, of waiting for me, only to tell me I'm bad in bed and then try to make me your student."
"Okay, saying you're bad was an exaggeration." Vox smiled, letting his fingers play with the hair at Alastor's nape. "You just need practice."
Alastor rolled his eyes. The gesture was so human, so out of place on him, that Vox let out a laugh.
"Practice," Alastor repeated, as if tasting the word. "So you want to practice."
"I want you to touch me in a way that makes me forget my own name." Vox leaned in, letting his lips brush Alastor's ear, feeling him shiver beneath him. "And I want you to feel how good it is to make me moan for real."
Alastor's hands traveled up his back, slowly, as if learning the way.
"Very well, mon cher." His voice had regained some of its usual tone, but there was a softness beneath it that Vox was still getting used to. "Teach me."
Vox smiled. His eyes seemed to glow even brighter.
"First lesson," he said, taking Alastor's hands and guiding them where he needed them. "Forget everything you think you know. We're starting from scratch. Except the kisses. Don't forget those."
Alastor raised an eyebrow, but he didn't pull his hands away.
The phrase resonated in the air of the bedroom as Vox guided Alastor's hands toward his body. Large and warm, they rested on his sides with an uncertainty Vox had never seen in him before. Alastor always knew what to do, always had a plan, always smiled with the confidence of someone who knows every move before making it.
But now his fingers were still, waiting for instructions.
And Vox realized that perhaps that was what excited him most about the whole situation.
"First," he said, bringing Alastor's hands upward until his palms rested on his chest, "touch. No rush. No goal."
Alastor looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but obeyed. His fingers moved with a slowness Vox didn't recognize in him, tracing the surface of his chest with a gentleness that contrasted with everything he had experienced from him in their first encounter.
And when his fingertips brushed one of his nipples, Vox felt an electric shock travel down his spine.
"Ah..." The moan escaped before he could stop it.
Alastor stopped. His eyes fixed on the spot where his fingers had touched, then rose to meet Vox's face.
"There?"
"Yes." Vox swallowed slightly. "That's sensitive."
Alastor repeated the gesture, more deliberately this time. His fingers circled the small button on his chest, pressing just barely, and Vox arched against him with a moan that sounded almost surprised.
"I didn't know you were so sensitive..." Alastor murmured, more to himself than to Vox.
"Mm." Vox let his head fall back, his screen pointing at the ceiling as Alastor's fingers continued their exploration. "Too much."
"I see."
There was something in Alastor's voice, a tone of almost scientific concentration, that made Vox laugh between moans. But the laugh turned into a gasp when one of Alastor's hands moved down to his waist while the other continued playing with his chest.
"This?"
"Yes... no... wait..." Vox took his wrist, guiding his hand to one side. "Here. My sides. But softer."
Alastor adjusted the pressure, and Vox felt his entire body relax under that touch. The slow, circular caresses created a warmth that spread from the point of contact to the rest of his body.
"Like that," Vox whispered. "Exactly like that."
Alastor tilted his head, watching how Vox melted under his hands. Something in his expression had changed. The usual confidence was still there, but now it was tinged with something Vox could only call attention. Genuine attention, focused, directed entirely at him.
"What else?" Alastor asked, and his voice had dropped an octave, becoming rougher.
Vox felt his insides clench. The wetness between his thighs was already evident, and they hadn't even reached the main event.
"Kiss me." His hands found Alastor's face, drawing him closer. "But not just the lips."
Alastor raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask. Instead, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to the curve where Vox's neck met his shoulder.
Vox moaned.
It was a low, rough sound that escaped his mouth with a need that surprised even himself. Alastor stopped immediately, his lips frozen against his skin.
"Sensitive there too?"
"Yes, for the love of all that is damned, don't stop."
Alastor continued.
His lips traveled down Vox's neck with a slowness that bordered on cruel. Each kiss was soft, wet, sometimes accompanied by the graze of his teeth and other times by the slide of his tongue. Vox felt every electrical terminal in his body ignite, felt his static become more erratic, felt his fingers cling to Alastor's shoulders with a force that would likely leave marks.
And then Alastor found the spot.
Right where the neck joined his shoulder, in a place that sent delicious tingles through him. Alastor's lips pressed there, and a moan escaped Vox with such intensity that his screen flashed brightly.
"God, Alastor, there... right there..."
Alastor growled against his skin. The sound was low, vibrating, and Vox felt it travel from his lips through his entire body. His hands squeezed Vox's sides with a pressure that before would have seemed possessive, but now felt like an anchor.
"You're wet," Alastor murmured against his neck, and it wasn't a question. His fingers had found the edge of Vox's pants, where moisture had already begun to seep through the fabric.
"Of course I'm wet." Vox's voice was a gasp. "You've been touching me for hours."
"Hours?" Alastor laughed, and the laugh vibrated against his skin. "It's been ten minutes, mon cher."
"In your time, maybe." Vox tugged his hair, pulling him up to capture his lips in a kiss that was more bite than caress. "In mine, it's been hours."
Alastor responded to the kiss with an intensity that made Vox forget for a moment that he was teaching. Their tongues tangled, and Alastor's hands moved down to his thighs, squeezing, parting them.
When they separated, Vox was openly panting.
"I want to see you," Alastor said, and his voice had lost all trace of his usual tone. Now it was deep, rough, something primal that made Vox shiver.
His pants and underwear had disappeared somewhere between one kiss and another. Vox wasn't sure if he had taken them off or if Alastor had torn them, and honestly, he didn't care. What mattered was the cold air of the room against the wetness of his thighs, and the way Alastor pulled back to look at him.
"Oh," Alastor said, and the word was barely a sigh.
Vox felt his screen heat with what he knew was a blush. Alastor's legs were on either side of his thighs now that they had changed position, his knees sunk into the mattress, and his red eyes traced every centimeter of what lay before him with an intensity that made Vox wish he could both disappear and be seen forever at the same time.
"I've seen you naked before," Alastor murmured, and his hands traveled up Vox's thighs with a slowness that was almost reverent. "But not like this."
"Like what?" Vox's voice came out rougher than intended.
"Like this." Alastor's fingers reached the junction of his thighs, barely brushing the moisture that had gathered there, and Vox arched with a moan that broke at the end. "Wet. Open. All for me."
"Alastor..."
"Tell me what to do." Alastor's voice was deep, but there was something in it that Vox recognized for what it was: a genuine question. An offering. "Tell me how you want me to touch you."
Vox felt his chest expand with something that wasn't just excitement. He took Alastor's hands, guiding them to his thighs.
"First," he said, and his voice trembled, "I want you to look at me."
Alastor raised an eyebrow, but obeyed. His eyes dropped to where Vox guided him, to the glistening wetness that coated his thighs and the throbbing center that waited between them.
"I want you to see what you do to me," Vox continued, guiding one of Alastor's hands to his entrance, letting his fingers brush against it. "I want you to know that this is because of you. Only you."
The moan that escaped Alastor was so low Vox almost didn't hear it. But he felt it: a vibration that traveled through his fingers, his hands, his arms, until it reached the center of his chest.
"And then," Vox spread his thighs wider, opening himself for Alastor in a way he had never opened for anyone, "I want you to taste me."
Alastor looked up. His eyes were dark, almost black in the dim light, and his smile had tightened into something Vox recognized as barely contained desire.
"May I?"
"Mm-hm." Vox tightened his hands around Alastor's wrists, guiding him down. "I want to feel your tongue, Al. I want you to lick me until I can't think."
Alastor moved downward with a fluidity Vox had seen him use to kill, but now applied to something completely different. His body slid between Vox's thighs, his hands squeezed the omega's hips, and his warm breath brushed the wet skin before he even put his lips on it.
"Teach me," he whispered against him.
Vox arched at just the breath.
"Start soft," he said, and his voice was barely a gasp. "Just the tip of your tongue. Small circles."
Alastor obeyed. The first press of his tongue was so light Vox thought he might be imagining it. A small, almost shy circle around the point that needed it most.
The moan that escaped Vox was completely involuntary.
"Like that... fuck, like that..."
Alastor repeated the movement, and then again, each circle a little wider, a little firmer. His tongue was skilled—Vox already knew it was, he'd felt it against his own enough times. But applied this way, with this intention, it was something entirely new.
"Deeper now," Vox gasped, his hands finding Alastor's ears, feeling them move under his fingers. "I want you to push inside."
Alastor pushed his tongue in.
Vox screamed.
It wasn't a fake scream or an exaggeration. It was a rough, broken sound that came from his throat with such force that his screen flickered. His thighs instinctively closed around Alastor's head, trapping him against him.
He expected Alastor to pull away. Expected a comment about suffocation, about lack of air, about the uncomfortable position.
Instead, Alastor growled.
It was a low, guttural sound that Vox felt vibrate inside him. The alpha's hands squeezed his thighs tighter, and instead of pulling away, he pressed deeper, his tongue moving inside Vox with a rhythm that was beginning to find itself.
"Oh, oh, like that..." Vox pulled at his ears without meaning to, guiding him where he needed him most. "Move your tongue, Al, like... yes, like that, just like that..."
Alastor learned fast.
Too fast, perhaps, because within minutes he had gone from shy circles to a fluid motion that alternated between deep pressures and superficial brushes that made Vox see stars behind his eyelids. Those hands traced Vox's thighs with squeezes that left marks, that anchored his body to the bed while his tongue dismantled him piece by piece.
"There," Vox moaned, his hips moving against Alastor's mouth with a rhythm he could no longer control. "Don't stop, please don't stop, I'm..."
Alastor's tongue twisted right where it needed to twist, and Vox felt his entire body tense into a single point of pure light.
His orgasm hit him like an electric shock—"appropriately," he thought in some corner of his mind that was still functioning—and his scream broke into pure static. His thighs clamped around Alastor's head with a force that would have been dangerous for anyone else, but Alastor didn't pull away. His tongue kept moving, prolonging the pleasure until Vox was shaking, until his hands released his ears and fell to the sides like dead weights.
When Alastor finally lifted his head, his lips were glistening and his smile was the widest Vox had seen on him in weeks.
"How was that?" he asked, and there was pride in his voice, but also something else: a need for approval that Vox never thought he'd see in him.
Vox tried to form words. What came out was a low, rough moan.
Alastor laughed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then slid up until he was face to face with Vox, his arms on either side of his head.
"Top student?"
Vox managed to focus his vision. The image of Alastor—lips swollen, hair disheveled, ears slightly perked—was almost too beautiful to process.
"Valedictorian," he managed to say, his voice still trembling.
Alastor tilted his head. His lips brushed Vox's in a kiss that tasted of himself, and Vox moaned against his mouth, feeling his body already beginning to stir again.
"Next lesson?" Alastor murmured against his lips.
Vox laughed, or tried to laugh, but what came out was a sound closer to a gasp. His hands came up to tangle in Alastor's hair, pulling him down. "Give me a moment, darling. You turned my legs to jelly."
---------
Vox's body was still trembling when Alastor moved between his thighs. Vox was barely catching his breath when Alastor pulled back just enough to finish taking off his pants, and Vox felt his mouth water. Fuck, that cock was delicious, and he wanted it so badly.
The waves of his orgasm still coursed through him like residual shocks, each one less intense than the last but enough to keep his legs shaking, barely able to stay open—but Alastor spread them wider anyway, settling his own hips between them with a deliberation that made Vox let out a low moan.
The alpha's hands pressed against the insides of his thighs, opening him, leaving him exposed again. Vox felt his body respond to the gesture with a fresh wave of wetness, as if his recent orgasm had only awakened a deeper appetite.
Alastor was panting.
That was an image Vox wanted to burn into his memory forever: the Radio Demon above him, hair disheveled by Vox's fingers, lips still glistening from having devoured him, and his eyes—fuck, his eyes dark, almost black, with that gleam Vox knew well. It wasn't the gleam of anger or sadistic amusement. It was something more primal. Something Vox loved seeing directed at him this way.
Desire. Total desire.
"Al..." Vox's voice came out rough, broken by the tremors still running through his body. His hands traveled up Alastor's back, feeling the hot muscles under his palms, then down to his chest, fingers finding the softness, the tense lines of his abdomen. "I can also..."
Alastor tilted his head, watching him.
"I can give you pleasure too," Vox continued, his fingers tracing down his torso and lower. "Learn what you like. Return the..."
He didn't finish the sentence. Alastor's hands caught his wrists with a speed that made Vox gasp, and in a fluid motion pressed them against the mattress on either side of his head. His fingers wrapped around his wrists with a pressure that wasn't painful but was immovable, and Vox felt his entire body relax under that grip, as if he had been waiting for someone to hold him down.
"Mon cher." Alastor's voice was low, rough, and his smile had tightened into something halfway between tenderness and predator. "I appreciate the gesture. Truly."
He leaned in, and his lips brushed Vox's skin—the curve of his neck, the place where his pulse beat strongest.
"But I find more pleasure in touching you." His teeth nibbled at the skin of his neck, right where it was most sensitive, and Vox arched with a choked moan. "In feeling you." Alastor's tongue traced the path his teeth had marked. "In hearing you."
Vox pulled at his wrists against Alastor's grip, not to free himself but to feel the resistance, to feel how he was held in place.
"Al..."
"I want to come inside you." The words came out hot against his neck, and Vox felt his insides clench with a violence that left him breathless. "I want to fill you completely."
Alastor pulled back enough to look at him, and his eyes were two red embers in the dim light. His smile curved in that crooked way, the one that always made Vox feel like his legs had stopped working properly.
"I want to watch you come around my cock." His voice was barely a whisper, but each word hit Vox like a lash. "I want to feel you squeeze me, how you don't want to let me go. And then..."
He leaned in closer, until his lips brushed Vox's.
"I want you to feel me inside you for days."
The moan that escaped Vox was embarrassing in its sincerity. His thighs squeezed around Alastor's hips, pulling him closer, feeling the pressure of what he promised between his legs.
"Yes." The word came out broken, desperate. "Yes, fuck, yes." His hands were still trapped under Alastor's, his fingers curling, searching for something to hold onto, even the mattress. "Please, Al, please..."
"Please what?" Alastor smiled, that crooked, sexy smile again, the one that left Vox feeling weak to the bone, and pressed his hips between his thighs with a movement that made Vox see white flashes momentarily. "Tell me."
"Please do it. Fill me. I want to feel you. I want..." Vox's sigh was trembling, feeling his entire body heat with anticipation. "I want you to make me yours."
Alastor let out a low, rough laugh, and his smile widened to show his teeth. His hands released Vox's wrists, leaving red marks that the omega observed with a fresh tremor, and moved down to grip his hips, fingers pressing with a force that would bruise later.
"You're already mine, darling." He tilted his head, his nose pressing against the place where Vox's neck met his shoulder, where his scent was strongest. "You've been mine since the first time we danced."
He inhaled deeply.
The sound Alastor made was neither a growl nor a laugh. It was something more primal, a sound of pure satisfaction that vibrated against Vox's skin and resonated in his chest like a second heartbeat. His arms wrapped around Vox's waist, pulling him closer, and his nose rubbed against that sensitive spot, inhaling more and more of that electric scent, that sweet trace of almonds that was only for him, with an intimacy that made Vox close his eyes.
"That scent..." Alastor murmured against his skin. "It's always driven me crazy."
Vox felt his own scent intensify with the words, as if his body responded to the confession before his mind could process it.
"Really?"
"Really." Alastor pressed his lips to that spot, and Vox felt him literally purr against his skin. "Sweet. Soft. Impossible to ignore."
His teeth bit down gently, and Vox arched with a moan that turned into a gasp as he felt Alastor align with him. The head of his cock pressed against his entrance, barely brushing, and Vox knew he was soaked, that there would be no resistance, that his body was singing yes, yes, yes from every nerve ending.
"Tell me," Alastor whispered against his neck, and there was something in his voice that wasn't exactly submission, but was surrender. "Show me how you want me to take you."
Vox tightened his thighs around Alastor's torso, his hands found his shoulders, his fingers digging into his skin. His eyes gleamed with anticipation and desire.
"Push," he said, and his voice was barely a gasp. "Slow at first. Let me feel you."
Alastor aligned properly and pushed.
The pressure was like coming home after a long day. Vox felt his body open for him, felt every centimeter of Alastor enter him with a slowness that was almost cruel. His mouth opened in a silent moan, his head fell back against the pillow, and his hands slid from Alastor's shoulders to grip his back, his nails leaving a trail of lines on his skin.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck, Al..."
"Like this?" Alastor's voice was tense, controlled. Vox could feel his body trembling with the effort of staying slow.
"Yes, like this, just... wait..." Vox adjusted his hips, searching for the angle, remembering his own body, what he needed. "Now... now push up, toward..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
Alastor pushed up, and Vox screamed.
The sound shook him, made him tremble. His back arched off the mattress, his thighs squeezed around Alastor with a force that would have broken lesser bones, and his hands clung to the alpha's back as if it were the only anchor in a storm.
Because Alastor had found the spot.
That place inside him that made his brain shut off and his body ignite, that place that the first time had been so frustratingly ignored, that place Vox had feared Alastor would never find.
And he had found it. On the first try. As if his body knew exactly where Vox's was, as if he had been waiting to be guided.
"There?" Alastor's voice was a low purr, and Vox knew, knew, that he was smiling that crooked smile.
"There, there, fuck, there, don't stop, don't you dare stop..."
And Alastor didn't.
His rhythm began to increase, each thrust finding that spot with a precision Vox didn't know whether to attribute to his guidance or some primal alpha instinct. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything except the way his body came apart, rebuilt itself, came apart again with every movement.
"Mine," Alastor whispered against his neck, and his lips found Vox's in a hungry kiss that stole his breath. "Tell me you're mine."
"Yours." The word came out broken, muffled against Alastor's lips. "I'm yours, Al, I'm..."
"Again." Alastor thrust deeper, and Vox saw bright stars. "I want to hear it again."
"Yours." Vox nodded once, twice, three times, his thighs squeezing around Alastor's torso as if he never wanted to let him go. "Only yours, always yours, Al..."
Alastor's hand moved down to his ass and slapped him with a dry crack that echoed in the bedroom.
Vox saw white.
His scream broke into pure static, his eyes rolled back, and his body tensed like an electrical wire about to snap.
"You were made for me," Alastor growled against his neck, and his voice was something Vox had never heard before: pure possession, naked, without the veneer of his usual smile. "Only for me. Only for this cock."
"Yes." Vox's voice was a sob, a gasp, a plea. "Only for you, only for..."
Alastor thrust once more, and Vox shattered.
The orgasm hit him like a short circuit. His back arched off the bed, his hands clawed at Alastor's back with a force that would leave red marks, his thighs clamped around him as if he wanted to fuse with him. And his mouth opened in a scream that was just one name, one single name, repeated like a mantra.
"Alastor, Alastor, Alastor..."
He felt Alastor come inside him a moment later, felt the heat that filled his insides, felt the alpha tense above him with a rough moan that Vox had never heard before and that he burned into his memory forever.
Then, the weight.
Alastor collapsed beside him with a trembling sigh that made his chest vibrate against Vox's arm. For a moment neither of them moved. The only light in the room was Vox's screen, which had dimmed to a warm, steady glow, and the faint light of the standing lamp still on in the corner.
Vox was the first to move.
He turned toward Alastor with a sigh that was more tremor than air, his arms finding Alastor's abdomen, his face pressing against his shoulder. His fingers traced his chest, drawing slow circles on his warm, vibrating skin.
"Shit..." Vox's voice came out rough, broken, and he was smiling. "That was so good."
His fingers continued their exploration, feeling how Alastor's heart beat against his palm.
"I knew you'd be good at this."
Alastor let out a low, rough laugh. His arm wrapped around Vox's waist and pulled him closer, until there was no space left between them.
"You sound very proud of yourself, mon cher."
"Of course I am." Vox lifted his head, resting his screen on Alastor's chest to look at him. His eyes traced Alastor's features, admiring the disarray of his hair, the swell of his lips, the unusual calm in his expression. "I'm an excellent teacher."
Alastor rolled his eyes, but his smile was genuine, wide, devoid of any sharpness.
Vox pushed himself up on his chest, resting his forearms on either side of Alastor's shoulders. His face hovered over Alastor's, inches away, and his expression turned serious.
"Al."
"Hmm?"
"You can't use this with any other omega."
The seriousness in his voice made Alastor raise an eyebrow. Vox felt those large, warm hands settle on his hips, fingers stroking the still-sensitive skin.
"Oh, no?"
"No." Vox lowered his face until his lips almost brushed Alastor's. "It's only for me."
His hand found Alastor's cheek, fingers stroking his cheekbone with a gentleness that contrasted with the firmness of his words.
"You're only mine."
Alastor looked at him in silence for a long moment. His red eyes gleamed in the dim light, and Vox felt his chest expand beneath his own with a deep breath.
"Jealous, mon cher?"
"Yes." The honesty of the answer seemed to surprise the alpha. "Deadly jealous. Pathologically jealous. I'll kill any omega who approaches you with intentions..."
Alastor laughed, but it wasn't his usual laugh. It was softer, more private, something Vox suspected very few had heard.
His hands squeezed Vox's hips and turned him, swapping their positions until it was Alastor who was above him, his arms on either side of his head, his weight pressing him into the mattress.
"Vox." His voice was low, serious, far from that playful tone. "Do you think I...?"
He paused, as if searching for words.
"I spent decades without feeling the slightest interest in touching anyone." His fingers traced Vox's side with a gentleness that contrasted with the intensity of his words. "Anyone but you. Do you know how long I've waited for you? To have you like this? To be able to make love to you?"
He leaned in, and his lips found Vox's in a kiss that was almost reverent.
"Do you think after this I could look at anyone else?"
Vox felt his screen heat up. His eyes grew moist and his hands came up to tangle in Alastor's hair, pulling him into another kiss that was softer than either of them expected.
"Say it," Vox whispered against his lips. "Say it again."
Alastor smiled against his mouth, and his hands moved down to intertwine with Vox's on the mattress, their fingers tangled, their palms pressed together.
"I'm yours, darling." The word came out with a gravity that made Vox hold his breath. "Only yours."
"Good," he said finally, and his voice was barely a trembling whisper. "Because after decades of waiting for you, I'm not going to let you go."
Alastor laughed, and the vibration traveled through Vox's body from head to toe.
"I don't doubt it."
He kissed Vox's lips once more, then moved down to his neck, to his shoulder, while their fingers remained intertwined.
Vox curled closer into his arms, though it was physically impossible, and murmured, "Besides, I can't let go of my star student."
Alastor grumbled something about insufferable teachers, but his arms wrapped around Vox's waist and held him close, and his heart beat against Vox's chest with a steady rhythm that became the only sound the omega needed to hear.
---------------
Vox was halfway between sleep and wakefulness when he heard Alastor's voice.
It wasn't complete words at first, just a murmur filtering through the fog of exhaustion that enveloped his body. His limbs had become something heavy and pleasant, anchored by the weight of Alastor's arm around his waist and the warmth of the alpha's body pressed against his.
"Since we're teaching each other things..."
Vox made a low sound, an acknowledgment that he was listening without being fully awake.
"I could give you dancing lessons."
That woke him up.
Vox lifted his head with a movement so sudden that his screen flickered, adjusting to the dimness of the bedroom. Alastor was reclining beside him, one arm folded under his own head and the other still resting on Vox's waist. His eyes were closed, but his smile curved his lips in a way Vox knew all too well.
"Dancing lessons?" The confusion in his voice was genuine.
Alastor nodded, eyes still closed, his smile widening with evident amusement.
"You're not a bad dancer, dear." His voice had that tone he used when he was about to say something he knew would irritate Vox. "But you lack technique. And rhythm."
Vox sat up almost completely, propping himself on one elbow to look at Alastor with an indignation that cut through the dimness like a lightning bolt.
"What?" His voice rose a pitch, static crackling in his words. "We've been dancing together for seventy years, Alastor."
Alastor opened one eye. Just one. The red gleamed in the dim light with a flash of pure amusement.
"Yes."
"Seventy years dancing with you, and you're only now telling me I dance badly!"
"I didn't say badly." Alastor opened the other eye, and now both were looking at him with that expression Vox hated loving. "I said you lack technique. There's a difference."
"There isn't."
"There is." Alastor sat up slightly, enough for his face to be closer to Vox's. His smile was wide, shameless, as irritating as it was attractive. "Dancing badly would imply you don't know how to follow rhythm. You know how to follow it. But sometimes..." He paused dramatically, his ears twitching as if preparing to drop a bomb. "...you get ahead of the beat."
Vox stared at him with his mouth open, letting out an offended sound.
"I get ahead?"
"Yes."
"Me?"
"You."
"You're the one who always wants to lead the rhythm in the turns!"
"Because if I don't lead, you lose your balance." Alastor said this with such absolute calm that Vox felt his indignation crash against a wall of serenity. "It's not your fault. Your sense of rhythm is just a little..." He made a vague gesture with the hand still resting on Vox's waist. "...incorrect."
"Incorrect?"
"Wrong, if you prefer that word."
Vox opened his mouth to unleash a devastating retort, something about presumptuous and arrogant alphas, but Alastor moved before he could articulate it.
His arm around Vox's waist tightened, and in a fluid motion, he pulled him against his chest. Vox's face pressed into the hollow of Alastor's shoulder, his body completely enveloped by the alpha's arms, and before he could protest, Alastor's lips found his.
The kiss wasn't deep. It was brief, soft, a brush that was full of tenderness and mockery at the same time.
When Alastor pulled back, his smile had softened into something Vox could only describe as tender—a word he had never associated with him and now found impossible to ignore.
"It's alright, darling." His voice was low, warm, and his fingers traced the curve of Vox's waist with a slowness that made the omega's indignation begin to melt. "You won't be a bad student. You already have the basics."
Vox felt his screen heat up. He wanted to hold onto his indignation, cling to it like a shield, but Alastor's tone was disarming him piece by piece.
"The basics," he repeated, his voice flatter than intended.
"Mmm." Alastor nodded, his chin brushing the top of Vox's screen. "The fundamentals are solid. You just need to polish certain aspects."
"Seventy years to tell me."
"I didn't want to hurt your feelings."
Vox lifted his head to look at him, and what he saw on Alastor's face was an expression so openly amused that he couldn't help but let out a laugh that broke into static.
"You're a liar and a grudge-holder," he murmured, letting his head fall against Alastor's chest. His voice was muffled against his skin. "You're lucky I love you."
The words came out before he could stop them.
Vox felt his entire body tense. The silence that followed was so dense that Vox could hear every small sound in the room: the faint hum of the lamp in the corner, the creak of wood in the walls, his own slow breathing.
Alastor didn't move. Didn't speak. Vox felt his breath stop, felt his chest cease its rise and fall.
And then Alastor spoke.
"Yes."
The word was so low that Vox almost didn't hear it. But he felt it—a vibration that traveled through Alastor's chest and into his own skin.
"I'm lucky."
Vox held his breath. His fingers gripped Alastor's arm tightly, and he felt in response the alpha's arms close tighter around him, as if learning to hold him in a new way.
Seconds passed. The silence became less dense, softer, like a blanket spreading over them. Alastor's breathing deepened, his chest beginning to rise and fall again with a slow, steady rhythm, and Vox felt his own body begin to relax into his grip.
Sleep began to reclaim him.
His screen dimmed gradually, shifting from a warm glow to a faint, barely perceptible light.
He was about to fall asleep when he heard Alastor's voice.
So low it sounded like he was talking to himself. So soft that Vox doubted, for a moment, whether he had really heard it.
"I love you too, mon cher."
The words slipped into the space between them like water finding a crack in a rock. They weren't spoken with the confidence Alastor used for everything else. They were spoken in a whisper, with a fragility Vox had never heard in his voice, as if he feared that saying them aloud would make them less true—or too true.
Vox wanted to respond.
But his body was too heavy in the best way possible. Sleep pulled at him with gentle but insistent hands, drawing him toward a place where words mattered less than the way Alastor's arms held him, the way his heart beat against Vox's body with a rhythm he no longer tried to hide.
So he said nothing.
Instead, he let his body sink deeper against Alastor's.
And as he fell into sleep, he felt Alastor's lips press against the top of his head—soft, lingering, as if sealing a promise neither of them needed to speak.
And somewhere, between sleep and wakefulness, he felt the arms around him tighten just a little more, and heard a whisper that might have been "my love" or might have been the wind, and he smiled.
Because he was lucky too.