Chapter Text
Vox's smile glints under the cameras glare, his body moving on its own, his words in sync with a persona he'd perfected when he was young and alive. He was composed, he was charming, he was fucking perfect. Everything had to be perfect. Or Else. Sinners quickly run in on breaks, armed with hair spray and drinks, flinching if their eyes meet the crimson glare that pulsates with the very palpable or else.
Swirling to the camera, the last intern ducks out of shot just as the lights go up on this episode's plugged product. An almost manic Vox animatedly announces a security company they were partnering with the Carmines to offer as a luxury extermination aid to the elite sinners of hell.
"You can guarantee a safe extermination for you and your loved ones with the complete Angelic Security package! Voxtek security cams, a state-of-the-art Voxtek panic room, and a private fleet of highly trained bad asses armed with the latest in Angelic steel weaponry!" Abruptly standing, Vox feels his bladder twinge slightly. Right. He had several glasses of water, sampled a few generously poured drinks with a guest, and -
Vox quiets the thoughts, mouth still moving as he presents on autopilot. His eyes stray to the clock on the wall, a creeping pain and sense of dread increasing with every agonizingly long tick of the second hand. The next time he pays attention to what he's doing, he's pacing in slightly tighter than usual steps across the set to welcome his next segment. Some porn star or some shit that Val had puppymoth-eyed his way into getting crammed into the last 10 minutes of the slightly longer Saturday night segment.
The butterfly or moth looking lady? Femboy? Thing? Vox sighs internally as he fakes a chuckle at a clumsy pick-up line from the buggy person. This wasn't worth the slight increase of viewership the fling of the week got from Val's porn fans. They were gonna be fired, jaded, dead or all of the above by the next episode anyway. It left a sour taste in Vox's mouth to even interact with Val's whores, it meant acknowledging his business (and sometimes intimate) partner’s dark side. A side that was pretty much all day every day unless Vox was too high or busy to pay attention.
The bug was perched on the edge of the seat, a little confused and reluctant to relax. They smiled and said their lines as rehearsed, but it was a much less comfortable chat with Vox standing the whole time.
Hip leaned against the desk, Vox's bladder cramps. There was no way to sit down like this, he'd pee himself. "And you've been in how many Val Digest rated pornos?"
They grin, hip cocked out saucily as they stand and mirror the poster poses from their films. "4 so far! Sexy noire," they cock an imaginary gun and pout. "The Saints Corruption, " They bend over, folding their hands as if to pray as their bust spills from their neckline, the room full of demons' hoots and whistles. "Daddy's pet." They swish their wings and bat their lashes to a roar of applause, "And Golden Showers, episode 8.5" This gets a standing ovation as the demon drops to their knees and fluffs their chest with their hands. "I got so wet filming that ending! So messy~" The star's flirting fades into static for Vox as his cock aches to life to add to his situation. Fucking hell, of all the days to switch his junk attachment to a dick, and of all the fucking kinks that could come up! Forcing himself to sit on his desk, Vox feels a quick trickle of piss spread warmth across his inner thigh. He's finally able to cross his legs just so for his aching and now slightly damp cock to stay out of view.
The starlet finally stands, adjusting their slightly rumpled clothes and waving as the show shifted to its outro. The music changed, lighting going down, and Vox forgot himself, leaning forward to wave as he repeated his usual feel good, talk show bye bye bullshit. His strained bladder shrieked in protest as his pants warmed further. The lights cut for a second, fading the show to black and Vox hopped into the outlet faster than he'd moved since- Since nothing.
Vox shakes the thought loose, shredding his pants open in his blue claws a moment too late. Vox stands, whimpering, before the toilet in his dressing rooms attached bathroom, as his bladder lets go again. The glistening shark teeth sink into his glowing lower lip, face flushing in shame at the throb of his cock.
. . .
Deer ears swivel and ruby eyes flit to the screen as the Vox drivel Cherry Bomb was watching in the sitting area of the hotel stumbles off its usual track. Alastor knew that tightness in Vox's voice, the shame and arousal that shone like a beacon of desperation and entertainment when the TV headed fool turned it his way. Peering over his newspaper, Alastor's grin twitches somewhere between disgust and intrigue. Vox was squirming, not like a normal soul would, no he'd never be that obvious, but compared to his usual fluid carefree movements Alastor could read his struggle clearly. He knew his former friend, though sometimes wished he didn't.
This wasn't one of those times. He could almost taste the bitter tang of frustration that he knew Vox's blood coursed with right now. The humiliated glare above his usual smile was just dessert.
It had been years since he'd coaxed a truly entertaining fit out of the brash man. As Alastor watches Vox, a curious new path to that goal occurs to him, and standing from his chair, Alastor lets the shadows absorb him. Quickly, he slips from the hotel to Vox's dressing room.
. . .
Holding his shredded pants in one hand, teary eyed and flushed, Vox stands at the counter. He'd tossed the offending attachment into the sink, free fingers already buried between navy blue lips, teasing the blue bud of his clit.
"My, my, my! So, this is what's become of the self-proclaimed "perfect" overlord?"
Vox's ego ignites even as his cheeks flush. "What the hell?!" He freezes, snarling despite it. "Didn't figure you for a
fucking
pervert, Al."
Revulsion flicks across Alastor's grin, and then sinister curiosity. "Well, this is new~" Shadow tentacles slip up from the inky abyss behind the radio demon, grabbing Vox in an immovable grip. Prodding the man's thighs apart with the base of his cane, Al peers down at Vox like he's examining a fly under a magnifying glass. "To think I once thought of you as my equal. But really, didn't you already have enough holes to embarrass yourself with? Always flinging yourself at that uncouth moth."
Outrage, humiliation, and his traitorous body’s arousal shudder through Vox. A glistening bead rolls down his inner thigh, and he yelps when Alastor grinds the cane into his leg harder. "Fuck-" Vox laughs, scowling up at Alastor even as he feels a tremble of desire reignite for the stupid antique bastard. "I thought you were scared of sex talk. Did your balls finally drop?"
Alastor draws his cane back, striking across the flatscreen with a sickening crack to the plastic casing. "Unless you want to know what true fear feels like-" Static warps his voice as his frame elongates before everything jumps back to normal. "You will mind your manners."
Vox can taste blood, and he sucks in a breath with a head rush of arousal. "I take it this isn’t gonna be some porn cliche cherry popping."
"More like a frog dissection." Alastor's quip is softer, despite him closing the gap between them. Peeling one glove off and neatly tucking it into his coat, the curious gaze mirrors the trail of his fingertips up Vox's body. Head tilted to the side, the deer demon observes the way his fingers brushing across the younger man's chest makes him shiver, and when they sink lower..
The slick sensation was mildly unpleasant. But it was an appealing mess in the oddest way, a sentiment he usually only applied to bloodier situations. One clawed fingertip rolls the blue clit and elicits a shameful whine from the larger man. "A- al- "
"Curious.. Is this the pleasure you primates lose your heads over?" Amused, Alastor speeds up slightly, gauging every change in reaction until he’s rubbing in patterns that have Vox whining in an almost musical manner. As Vox recognizes a fragment of the tune, he clamp’s his mouth shut, glaring at the snickering deer. "This is so much more entertaining than i thought it would be."
Hopeful, and horny, Vox looks down to see... nothing. Al was as soft and sexless as ever, merely savoring the humiliation in front of him. "W- wish I could say the same, but ..." He shrugs, smirking at the lack of arousal in front of him.
A little irritated at the juvenile behavior, Al much preferred when Vox tried to be serious. It made him breaking down that much funnier in the end. "I don't think you can handle what it takes to stimulate my baser reactions."
"Ooh ba~se reactions. " Sarcasm drips from the words, and Vox leans in as much as he can, "I'm sure the scariest shit
you
are into is missionary with the lights on."
Light explodes in his vision, ringing swelling in his auditory processing. This time the cane had struck up, knocking Vox back limply into the grip of the tentacles. As his eye's focus, he sees a lock of red hair fall out of place, shading dark eyes into black voids that rake over Vox's helpless form. "All trussed up like a proper meal~" Unnaturally, his jaw creaks open and he leans in to drag his tongue over Vox's exposed throat. "I wonder how you'd taste.."
His teeth press softly in, beads of electric blue blood welling up into the radio demon’s mouth. The pain is sweet, shooting straight through Vox mixed with the feeling of Al's tongue lapping at his bloody throat. He screams, teeth gritted and body arching up to the maw full of jagged teeth. "God
damn
! Is that all you g- got? Some love bites? Bo- oring."
Vox wails, Alastor's hand had moved to his hips, punching holes in his suit and drawing blood. Bloodstains bloom on his clothing and Vox inhales sharply at the thought of another warmth. Blushing at the thought of looking any weaker in front of Alastor, he swallows and tries to focus on the pleasure and not the fact that being a horny dumbass instead of emptying his bladder the rest of the way earlier meant he still needed to pee.
Alastor suddenly takes a half step back, maneuvering Vox's body with the tentacles. Forcing his legs up and apart and drawing his hands tightly down to his sides with a knowing smirk. The jostling makes Vox tense up, and he feels horror and shame bubble up like acid in his chest in time with the droplets escaping his bladder.
A burst of warped, angry static follows, and Alastor strikes him with the cane. "Is that any way to behave? Not all of us are as depraved as you."
A masochist to the end, Vox snaps back with a laugh, "Nah,
you
get off on fucking corpses or some shit, right?"
Alastor's face warps, and he looms over Vox with a chuckle of his own. "Oh no, my dear! It's not the meat that 'gets me off' as you so eloquently put it." The shadows pull Vox down into the inky pool beneath them, the next words following him into the shade. "It's the killing."