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Alastor couldn't sleep.
That in itself was nothing new. The Radio Demon had (in)famously suffered from bouts of insomnia for a big chunk of his afterlife. Probably yet another punishment Hell in its eternal cycle of karmic retribution had graciously bestowed upon him (fuck you too, Lucifer).
The sleeplessness had somewhat taken a backseat once Alastor began sharing his living spaces with his business partner slash best friend slash wedded husband. Who would have thought that a sentient household appliance could offer this much peace of mind!
Vox certainly was no stranger to pulling all-nighters either, although his stemmed more from being an energy-drink-addicted workaholic. In the past, company work had been the primary culprit for entire nights fueled by enough caffeine to force a heart attack and a concerning amount of sour gummy worm bags catapulting his sugar intake to an all-time high.
These days however, Vox worked remotely far more often than not and the reduced stress had done wonders for his sleeping habits. So had Alastor's massive, food-coma inducing meals.
Ironically, Vox was also the reason why Alastor currently found himself awake and staring wide-eyed at the pitch black ceiling with moderately murderous intents.
Vox was snoring.
Loudly.
A relentless string of "snkrrrr"s and the mechanical whirring of internal cooling fans served less as soothing white noise and more as hair-pulling sound pollution. It drove Alastor up the wall.
Come to think of it, Vox had never been that noisy before. The snoring was normally mild enough for Alastor to ignore and comfortably drift off to sleep beside him without issues. Tonight however, it sounded like an assault on his fluffy ears.
With a low groan, Alastor sat up in bed. The blanket he had hogged from his husband slid down his slender frame and pooled around his thighs. He shot a disapproving glare over his shoulder at Vox who was still fast asleep. Still roaring like a chainsaw.
The Television Demon's screen glowed faintly in the dark, casting a soft blue halo across the room. Usually Vox's display switched to Sleep Mode while he rested, but every now and then the setting reverted and his facial features re-appeared. Most likely triggered by the audio emission from his loudass snoring.
Vox's mismatched eyes were shut, his mouth agape and drawing in air in lieu of a nose (how the fuck did he even snore this bad with working air vents?! Probably out of pure spite).
Alastor's gaze trailed further south. The old t-shirt with the faded Jaws movie print Vox wore to bed had ridden up in his sleep and gave an unobstructed view of his soft middle. His ample belly drooped over the elastic waistband of his night shorts, gently rising and falling in tandem with his breathing. The slow, steady rhythm was oddly mesmerizing, almost like watching ocean waves.
Alastor caught himself staring. Up. Down. Up. Down.
Hypnotic.
Before he knew it (or ponder rationally about it), Alastor lifted a hand and rested it atop the swell of Vox's stomach, gently pinching an inch there.
Oh. It felt wonderfully plush.
His crimson claws were a stark contrast to the deep navy blue of Vox's skin. Cyan stretch marks adorned the lower curve of his belly like a web of delicate spider threads. Were these new ones?
Vox lying flat on his back limited what Alastor could grab, but there was still plenty of him to get a hold of. Alastor gave a few squeezes to his spare tire, marveling at how the softness there yielded under the tips of his sharp claws. So warm and pliant.
"Goodness," Alastor murmured, his voice sans radio filter drowning completely in the cacophony of snores and mechanical whirring. "You've gotten so big."
Vox had grown. A lot.
Even that felt like an understatement.
Alastor still remembered the days when Vox's abs had been clearly visible instead of buried beneath a layer of soft padding. He'd strut around shirtless in their shared living spaces in front of Alastor like a peacock flashing its feathers, lingering in Alastor's line of sight with a shit-eating grin and shamelessly awaiting praise for what he proudly proclaimed to be his "smoking hot Adonis bod." Nowadays, Vox still occasionally wandered around shirtless, distinctly more jiggly, but Alastor found himself enjoying the view far more.
According to Vox's own words hissed from behind gritted digital teeth, he had a godawful metabolism. Always had. It had seemingly followed him all the way from the human world into the afterlife. Alastor had once listened to him complaining about it.
"I swear, Al, I'm only looking at a cheeseburger and I feel that shit settle on my hips by tomorrow. Do you have any fucking clue how much it sucks doing PR work like that? Some days I just wanna tear into some greasy junk food that's going nuclear on my diet, but I CAN'T without bloating up like a goddamn whale afterwards." Vox groaned dramatically and slumped back into his chair. "Fuck my life, am I right?"
Hearing those words, Alastor had felt a strange warmth pool in his lower stomach. Blood rushed to a certain part of his body he'd long since written off as permanently dysfunct.That very night, Alastor had promptly invited Vox out for dinner to his favorite fast food court to test the validity of his statement.
Safe to say, Alastor hadn't been disappointed.
Several years of marriage…ah, close partnership down the line and Vox had thoroughly proven that he had indeed not been exaggerating.
Unfortunately (for Vox), the Television Demon's favorite foods were all staples of the stereotypical American cuisine, meaning they were either a) deep fried, b) loaded with sugar and carbs or c) dripping in grease and fat…or, more often than not, all of the above combined.
Coupled with mostly sedentary office work, keeping his weight in check to adhere to Hollywood's impossible beauty standards had required blood, sweat and tears (and various substances) on Vox's part long before he approached Alastor with the offer to team up.
From that fateful day onwards however, Alastor had made sure the scale only went in one direction anymore. It surely wasn't down.
Vox's ever-expanding middle was a testament of Alastor's prowess in the kitchen. He took great pride in every garment Vox outgrew and every seam that ripped. Any attempt at convincing Alastor to use just a little less butter for his recipes inevitably fell onto deaf ears. As were Vox's half-hearted promises of "I'll start my diet tomorrow, you'll see". At this point, they had turned into a running gag.
As Alastor continued to idly play with the squishy fruits of his handiwork, Vox began to stir. The snoring stopped abruptly and his screen flickered as if suffering from bad reception.
Alastor hummed. Had he woken Vox? What a pity. Just when he had decided to forgive the man for disturbing his sleep in favor of providing such fun entertainment.
A mighty creak erupted from the bed frame when Vox rolled onto his side. For a fleeting moment, Alastor was certain his husband was about to crush him beneath his bulk. He was a little disappointed when Vox simply rotated enough to face him instead. What made him bleat in surprise however was Vox reaching out blindly in his sleep to pull Alastor into a full-body embrace.
Soon, the Radio Demon found himself enveloped in a cage of sticky warmth akin to being trapped inside a baking oven. Vox's skin was usually cool and sleek, not unlike that of his beloved marine pets, but all the new insulation he sported was making him run a lot warmer. Hence the loud droning of his cooling fans, which now seemed to pierce right through Alastor's skull.
Despite not hailing from the feline demon species, Alastor always appreciated a cozy, cushy resting spot. Vox's belly passed his high standards of a pillow with flying colors. On another day he would have gladly melted against his husband's plush form and accepted his affection.However, the noise was a hindrance. His right ear flicked with annoyance as another deafening snore snapped the last feeble string of his patience. Enough was enough!
"Vincent," Alastor gave the plump arm draped across his chest a shake. "Wake up. Vincent, hey!"
"Mgh…huh?"
Suddenly the TV screen nestled on the pillow above Alastor's head brightened up by a few percentages. Vox blearily opened an eye.
"Wazz wrong?"
Alastor tried not to let the adorable sight soften his demeanor. After all he was still mad at the man (somewhat). "You woke me up, Vincent. Your snoring is atrocious."
The words took a while for Vox's sleep-addled brain to register.
"M not snoring," he muttered, nuzzling his rectangular head into Alastor's hair. Electricity made the reddish-black tips cling to his display.
"Yes, you are and it's so loud that I can't sleep. So are your fans, by the by."
"Fans? What fans?"
Alastor rolled his eyes. "Your nefarious cooling fans, Vincent." He poked a finger into Vox's love handle for emphasis. "They rob me off my sleep." Vox seemed to not realize the gravity of Alastor's dilemma. He simply yawned and closed his eyes again.
"Mhm, s' tough. Go sleep."
"Come again?"
No reply followed other than another snore. Alastor's eye twitched.
He reached over to shake Vox by the shoulders.
"Vincent!"
"I'M AWAKE! I'm awake. Jesus!"
With a weary sigh, Vox rubbed the sleep from his digital eyes. It looked like he had accepted his fate. Peaceful slumber just wasn't in the cards tonight.
"What do you want me to fucking do, Al? I can't turn em off or else I'll overheat. Do you want the sheets to catch on fire? Again?"
"I'm aware of their necessity, but do they need to make their existence this audible?" Alastor scoffed. "They never used to be this invasive. Maybe one of your filters is faulty?"
"Filters? The fuck are you even talking about?"
Vox stretched his limbs with another great yawn. The movement had his t-shirt riding up even further to the edge of his moobs. That is what they were now, no matter how hard Vox argued against. Alastor threw a discreet glance at the goods before Vox pulled his shirt down again as much as the fabric allowed to be stretched over the dome of his gut without ripping.
"Maybe it's your gills."
"Technically, they are air vents-"
"Your gills don't get enough oxygen, I think. Look at the poor things."
Alastor gestured towards Vox's flank. A bunch of stubborn rolls had wedged themselves in between the 3 neon blue slits and made them flex helplessly for air.
Vox frowned and waved a dismissive hand. "That's bullshit, my vents are fine."
"Your snoring is telling me otherwise."
"Fucking hell, Alastor, just use some earplugs! Or is your prissy ass too good for those, huh? I'm not sleeping on the damn couch if that's what you're implying."
The Radio Demon shook his head as if scolding an exceptionally slow child. "I wouldn't suggest that, hun. Our poor couch can only take so much of your generous derrière before it gives out entirely."
Vox rolled his eyes at the casual jab. "And wouldn't you have a ball with that."
With a strained huff, Vox planted both arms into the mattress for some momentum to heave himself upright. Seemingly it wasn't as easy anymore as it used to be.
Alastor felt his smile widen. There was something so very satisfying about the sight of his husband struggling against gravity while spewing a colorful array of profanities under his breath. All thanks to Alastor's expert cooking and Vox's inability to say no to a second helping.
Or a third.
Or a fourth.
Ah, he felt like patting himself on the back for his chef d'oeuvre. So much so that an idea bloomed in his head.
"Well, my dear Vincent," Alastor chirped in his best radio host voice, "now that you're up anyways, how about a midnight snack?"
"Uh," Vox said eloquently as he watched his partner slide out of bed and grab his old man morning robe. The familiar click-clack-click-clack of bare hooves scraping against hardwood flooring echoed down the hallway towards the kitchen.
Grunting, Vox reached over to the nightstand to check his Vphone.
"For fuck's sake, Alastor, it's 3 AM in the goddamn morning. I can still feel those three servings of lasagna you made for dinner sitting in my stomach like a stone, the last thing I need is…"
The Television Demon's rant trailed off when Alastor returned. He carried a plate with a big slice of cheesecake and a spray can of heavy cream in his arms.
Vox's eyes became large as saucers. Nervous laughter escaped him.
"Ohohoho no. No, Alastor."
Alastor's grin rivaled that of the Cheshire cat.
"Yes, Vincent."
The Television Demon groaned.
"Fuck me."
"Perhaps later, if you behave," Alastor added cheekily. The cyan blush spreading across Vox's silly face wasn't lost on him. His husband would definitely hold him to that promise, but for now Alastor's goal was a different one.
Nimbly, the deer climbed back onto the bed, straddling his husband's lap and wrapping his slender legs around a thickened waist. Despite his earlier protests, Vox's hand immediately rested on the small of Alastor's back to secure him.
The plate with the cake was balanced precariously atop the shelf of Vox's gut. This earned Alastor a deadpan glare.
"Really?"
"Don't act as if this is a novelty, Vincent, I've seen you do the same when you think I'm not looking. Besides, don't you always pride yourself on efficiency? Now you have your very own built-in TV table! I'd call that incredibly efficient."
"Har har, fuck you, prick."
"Really now, you brought this onto yourself by waking me up," Alastor argued like the petty asshole he was as he handed Vox a fork. "You ought to take responsibility,"
Vox gave an incredulous laugh. "I didn't even do shit!? YOU woke me up at 3 AM bitching for no fucking reason whatsoever!"
Vox morphed his digital face and voice into a strikingly accurate caricature of his spouse - heavy eyelids and obnoxious radio filter included. "'Ohhh Vincent, my stupid furry ears are sooo sensitive, but I'm too much of a lazyass bitch to pop some earplugs in, it's aaaall your fault, wah, wah'. And now you expect ME to entertain you? Hah! Fat chance."
Alastor's eyes crinkled with mirth. "Isn't that the sole raison d'être for your television kin? Providing entertainment? I must say, you never fail to do a splendid job!"
"Haha, wow. Reducing me to an object, how original."
Just when Vox was about to spear a piece of cake onto the fork, Alastor snatched it out of his claws. Vox snarled.
"What the fuck?"
Alastor wagged his finger like a scolding teacher. "Ah ah, I keep telling you that we need the appetizer first. Don't be a savage, cher."
His dainty hand wrapped around the spray can with the whipped cream and gave it a few firm shakes. The way Alastor's fingers flexed around the cylindrical length and toyed with the nozzle's metallic slit was entirely unnecessary, but lead to the desired effect. Vox audibly gulped.
With theatrical grandeur, Alastor put a generous dollop of heavy cream atop the cheesecake. Adding a bit more sugar to this calorie bomb really shouldn't matter much at this point, no?
Vox's huge red eyes were glued to Alastor's dexterous handiwork.
"That's…a lot."
Alastor chuckled. "Is it now? I pegged you to ask for more. Considering what an insatiable bastard you are."
That made Vox grin. "Heh, pot calling the kettle back much? You're just as insatiable as me, Bambi. If not more."
He threaded a bright blue claw through the gap between the two buttons of Alastor's pajama top, toying with the chestfur hidden beneath. "How you can pack away so much food into that skinnyass twink body of yours will forever be one of Hell's greatest mysteries."
"No, I do think we are very much alike, Vincent," Alastor purred back, letting an incredibly smug-looking Vox open the first of his shirt's buttons. "If it weren't for my dastardly metabolism, I'd probably be as rotund as you! Alas, it seems you have to fill out for the both of us."
Before his husband's grabby hands could reach out for more of that forbidden fruit, Alastor pulled away. Vox's desperate little whine was the sweetest music to his ears.
"Patience is a virtue, my dear." Alastor booped his screen.
"I don't give a shit about virtue, Al, we're literally in Hell," Vox growled back. "Now get your cute lil' ass back here and hand over that cake. I still got some space left." He gave his middle a few pats.
Alastor smirked. "See? I knew you'd be begging for it in the end. You can't resist my pastries." As he scooped up some of the dessert, a crackling cable wire wrapped itself around the can of cream and pulled it lightning fast out of the Radio Demon's grasp. Too quick for him to react in time.
"Oh?" Intrigued, Alastor quirked an eyebrow at his husband.
Shaka, shaka went the can before Vox threw his head back, spraying the whipped cream straight into his large mouth. A string of purposefully exaggerated moans, one lewder than the next, made Alastor's perpetual smile falter a little.
"What's the matter, darling? You talked about appetizers, didn't you? That appetizing enough?"
With a lascivious flick of his electric blue tongue, Vox licked his lips clean. His toothy grin took up half of his entire screen.
"Fuck, it just tastes better this way. Dont'cha think so?"
Alastor knew that, as a proper gentleman, he should have felt repulsed. Disgusted, by this display of sheer hedonism. His husband was acting like an uncultured pig to get a rise out of him.
Instead, Alastor's deer tail wagged wildly like a metronome.
Vox smacked his lips. Some sweet foam still stuck to his TV casing, so he used the tip of his claw to lead the residue to his mouth, never breaking eye contact with the deer.
Oh, that whore.
"We could use that cream for other stuff too." His dark eyebrows bounced up and down, near clipping out his screen. "You known me, Bambi, I ain't picky."
Alastor didn't spare him a glance as he dug the fork into the cake with more force than was necessary. "Don't be wasteful."
"How is it wasteful if I lick it all up clean anyways? You of all people should know how good that tongue fucks, babe."
Alastor scrunched up his nose when Vox let said 3D tongue loll out the confines of his 2D face in all its uncannily monstrous glory.
"Put that thing away, Vincent, it's unsightly."
"Oh yeah? Wasn't unsightly when it was inch deep inside your ass last ni- MMMPF!"
"Eat", was the sole command as Alastor crammed a piece of the pastry into Vox's maw. The Television Demon huffed, yet obeyed despite his protests and swallowed.
Alastor watched with glee as Vox closed his eyes in bliss, the cake melting inside his mouth.
"Mhm, this is fucking incredible, Al. How do you always make this shit taste so good?"
Alastor could tell that Vox was trying his hardest to act like a brat when all he truly wanted was to give in to his gluttony. 70 plus years of companionship had granted Alastor formidable knowledge of the inner workings of Vox's mind.
Which is why he knew exactly how to keep the ball rolling from here.
"Good boy, Vincent," Alastor cooed, shoveling another forkful into Vox's waiting screen, "You're doing so good for me, sweetheart."
The praise instantly went up to Vox's head (and his dick). There was no need to confirm the latter, Alastor could tell from the pitiful whimper that escaped Vox's speakers as he adjusted his chubby legs.
"Gimme more, Al. Please."
Vox had hardly finished his current treat when he was already eagerly asking for the next. His enthusiasm, not only for pleasing Alastor but also for his homemade cooking, was addictive.Vox always wanted more and more and then some. Be it fame, pleasure, money, power or good food.
That bottomless greed of his, the vice that had landed him a spot in Hell in the first place, was also the trait Alastor adored the most. It was the driving force behind Vox's skyhigh ambitions and his boundless desire to reach for the stars. There was simply no end to his dear picture box's voracious hunger - and Alastor would gladly aid his spouse by providing only the most exquisite of meals.
After feeding him another forkful, Alastor bent forward and kissed Vox smack dab on the lips. He snaked his own much more humanoid tongue into the enigmatic hammer space of Vox's screen mouth and licked the heavy cream off the cake piece inside.
The sound that escaped Vox's speakers was near pornographic. He tried to lean closer into Alastor, but could only reach so far with his stuffed belly in the way. When they parted to catch their breath, a glittery line of saliva connected them.
For a moment they simply gazed into each other's eyes, panting.
Then Alastor clacked a claw against the ceramic dish.
Tack-tack.
"Would you like another slice, my love?"
Vox gave a smirk. Tired, yet willing nonetheless.
"Always."
—
Finally, the entire leftover cake from the fridge was gone. The plate was licked clean down to the last few scraps of cream and biscuit. Vox had eaten it all. Just like always.
He slumped back onto the bed with a weary groan, a hand on his stuffed middle trying to placate his angry stomach. It stuck out a good bit further than usual. Yup, he had definitely overdone it. Just like always.
Alastor watched him fondly. He put the plate away before laying down next to Vox on the mattress, placing his own much smaller, slender hand atop of Vox's massive paw.
"Vincent, let me help you."
Gently, he began to rub his hand across the taut expanse of Vox's stuffed gut. It had hardly any give now compared to before his late night feast. Alastor carefully pressed two fingers into a specific spot that had Vox groan in a mix of pleasure and pain.
"Fuuuuuck, why did you tempt me? I always fall for your bullshit, I'm such an idiot." Vox wheezed out. His eyebrows were scrunched up in a pained expression as he held his aching tummy.
Alastor cackled. "You're too easy." Using both hands for the massage was pretty much a given with how much of Vox there simply was nowadays.
Alastor wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
All these many years ago, he had fallen for the charms of a strange looking sinner with a bulky TV set for a head. That same charm, quick wit and similar penchant for ultraviolence had eventually convinced him to form a partnership.
Then a company.
Then a home.
One day, Vox had dropped to one knee and conjured a contract in electric blue between them. Offering half his soul in exchange for half of Alastor's.
A crude homage to a wedding proposal.
The idea of surrendering a piece of himself - the most valuable thing one could possess in Hell, mind you - filled Alastor with shockingly little dread. He found himself surprised by how little he wanted to run and hide from Vox's affection anymore. The instinct surfaced merely once, flaring up with the strength of a dying candle.
It was the moment Alastor realized that he truly and wholeheartedly trusted Vox with his life.
"Might as well make it official," Vox had said with a crooked grin.
"You owned my heart from the start anyways."
Pulled out of his reverie by a sudden noise, Alastor blinked and peered down at his spouse. Vox tried to muffle a burp with his fist. "Urp, pardon me. I'm so fucking full."
Alastor tutted. "Don't do that, Vincent."
The Television Demon sputtered, shooting his partner a sheepish look. "H-hey, it's only natural! You shouldn't have force-fed me all that crap if you think it's so gross! And I even apologized, what else do you want me to-"
"No, you silly box." Alastor cut off his husband and gave his TV head a gentle smack. "I told you once before, I don't mind hearing these…gastric noises of yours. It's your body's very own symphony praising my cooking skills! Don't you dare hide them from me."
Vox grimaced. "Man, you're such a fucking weirdo."
Much to Alastor's delight, the next belch rummaging through Vox's overtaxed stomach was wholly unfiltered. Vox still looked mildly flustered, but Alastor's unbridled approval never failed to work wonders on his confidence.
A little while of gentle belly rubs in comfortable silence later, Alastor picked up the spray can from his spot on the bed and gave it an experimental shake.
"Mhm. You didn't empty it."
Vox looked up, still a little dazed. That cheesecake really had given him the rest.
"What?"
"The heavy cream. There's still some left."
"Yeah?" Vox blinked. Alastor's cryptic words finally made it through his hazy mind. When realization hit him like freight train, Vox's digital eyes grew comically wide.
"No no no no, Alastor, I can't. I'm- No. No chance. Nada. Zilch. Fuck off."
"Vincent, it's no good to waste food. Aren't you the one always preaching that?"
Vox stared up in mild horror as Alastor slowly crept closer. The spray can in his grasp glinted menacingly.
"Uh, yeah? But it won't spoil if we just put it back in the fridge, right? You can put it on my breakfast pancakes or something. Shit, babe, I'm at my fucking limit. I mean it! Do you want me to projectile vomit all over you, is that it?! You know what, just- just don't answer that. Who the fuck even knows anymore what gets your rocks off. Goddammit, Alastor."
Alastor couldn't help but chuckle at his husband's dramatics.
"Perhaps you are in need of a little persuasion."
"Persu-what?"
At the sensation of Alastor's claws trailing over his belly hang, Vox glitched out. "Alazzt0rrr, YoXZS3GHD11U…FUCK!"
It wasn't easy finding what he was looking for. Not with so much abundant, tasty, delicious, mouth-watering flesh in the way. The cannibal inside him yearned for a bite, but the loving spouse knew there was a better time for that. So Alastor merely licked his lips as he held up Vox's thick tummy roll with one hand to reach for the hem of his night shorts with the other.
"You're so large, Vincent. Someday you won't be able to pleasure yourself anymore without my help!" Alastor quipped. One claw tugged down the strained elastic band of Vox's shorts and dipped inside.
"You sound - hah, way too fucking happy about that, you asshole. Ngh," Vox panted before his voice melted into another mewl.
Ah, there it was!
Alastor wrapped a hand around his husband's erect cock with the same delicate motion with which he had handled the can of whipped cream before. A fat drop of translucent pre-cum beaded at the neon blue glowing tip. He thumbed over it, smearing it across the robotic length slowly. Alastor regarded the blinking V-shaped racing stripes on the appendage with an eye roll. He recalled Vox excitedly babbling something like "it's so fucking hot when they light up inside you".
Always so garish, that silly man.
A shadowy tentacle picked up the task of keeping Vox's tummy lifted so that Alastor's left hand could resume feeding the last bits of cream to his husband while his right one jerked him off.
"Open up, dear. Chop, chop."
"Alastor," Vox drawled out his name, gazing up at his partner with big pathetic puppy eyes. "I'm so full…"
"Just a little more, Vincent." Alastor urged, saccharine and pleading. "For me?"
The Television Demon whimpered, yet he still opened his maw once more. Trembling a little from both fullness and excitement.Oh, wasn't he just the sweetest?
Alastor felt his fondness reach new heights as he fed his partner more of the cream straight from the nozzle. Never had he believed in something as pretentious as "romance" - not on Earth nor in Hell - but Vox had always had a talent for shaking his worldview.
The sparkling blue and green wedding ring on the Radio Demon's finger was proof of that.
Food was special to Alastor.
Food was the treasured memory of Maman's smile as he scarfed down her flavorful stews and rich soups.
Food was love.
It was spending hours in the kitchen, pouring his time and effort into every perfectly chopped carrot and every carefully sliced onion. It was watching his partner eat with unfettered enthusiasm, happily asking for seconds, thirds and then some. It was seeing the results of these lovingly prepared meals take physical form on his dear husband's body.
That was all Alastor needed in his afterlife.
As Vox messily lapped up the cream with his huge tongue, Alastor took care of his husband's other needs. Blue sparks crackled from Vox's antennae and lit up the room. A telltale sign that he was approaching his climax.
The Radio Demon picked up the pace. Two more tentacles aided the endeavor by caressing and fondling his soft body in all the ways he knew would make Vox lose his mind.
His spouse's breathy moans were muffled from the puffs of heavy cream cloying his mouth, so Alastor helped him with a few more French kisses, tasting the sweetness of the cream mixed with the fizzling electricity of Vox's tongue.
"Ala…zztorRR! Ah-ajUFJKxxH-!"
Vox's voice distorted into glitchy static. His cock pulsated in Alastor's hand, so he gave it one more tug and a whispered command.
"Come for me, Vincent."
It was the last push Vox needed to reach the edge.
His screen flashed colored bars for a few seconds as his orgasm washed over him, his own spent splattering across the underside of his belly. Simultaneously, the sensation also triggered a complete system reboot. Oh well. Alastor licked the spurts of artificial cum off his hand in the meanwhile. Hm. Strawberry-flavor.
Maybe those enhancements Vox boasted about weren't all that useless after all!
A high-pitched jingle signaled his husband's return to the living. The corporate "A/V Productions - TRUST US with your entertainment!" screensaver in blue and red swapped back to an exhausted pair of eyes and a mouth.
"Holy shit."
Vox's labored breathing echoed through the bedroom. Pearls of sweat dripped down his display as he gradually came down from his high.
"Sorry, can't return the favor right now," he managed to huff out between shallow wheezing and another filthy belch. "If I move I'll throw up for real,"
Alastor smiled warmly. "There's no need, love. Your performance satisfied me enough."
He'd take care of the tent straining in his own pajama pants later. For now, Alastor just wanted to stay close to Vox.
He pressed a chaste kiss to his screen, cupping the black TV casing with tenderness.
Funny how the very same claws that delighted in digging through rotten carcasses and tearing into gory entrails could also hold his beloved so gently.
"Je t'aime."
It wasn't often that Alastor felt like verbalizing his…"feelings" (ew), but Vox, blunt as he was, always seemed to enjoy when he did. It felt like an adequate reward to gift Vox a facsimile of that silverscreen romance he adored so much. The Television Demon had truly gone to his limits tonight. A bit of coddling was only fair.
Sure enough, Alastor's whispered confession earned him the desired reaction: Vox let out a content hum and weakly tightened his hold around him, pulling him flush to his ample chest. Cyan pupils glowed with deep affection. "Love you too," Vox murmured. "So much."
Alastor noticed with disdain how hearing those unbearably schmaltzy words made his traitorous tail thump against the sheets.
Clearly, his lack of proper sleep was to blame for that icky sentimentality. Nothing more.
With the gurgling sounds of his husband's overstuffed belly rumbling in his ear and the comforting weight of a plush arm draped around his form, Alastor finally drifted off into slumber.