Chapter Text
Every fiber of his being ached.
He was confined to the chair all night. Every time he writhed and shifted to adjust his position, preventing his sore ass from getting anymore numb, his restraints would rub against his pained joints and add more discomfort to his agonizing situation. At least his numb joints nullified the pain from sitting all night long, until he stupidly moved again and the pains and needles wore away from his limbs and pain soared through him instead.
All while he was forced to watch Vox sleep. Well, he could have stared at the filthy posters on the walls, or the vile white muck on the floors, or even at his shadow who tried its hardest to entertain him. But the odd flicker of static and soft murmur from Vox’s black screen, of which had his ‘V’ logo gliding across to each side– and the bastard thing never reached a corner– all continued to reel in Alastor’s attention.
The deer spat curses the whole time, mumbling about how hungry he was to dig his nails into Vox’s throat, until the overlord choked to death or bled out.
Or how he could restrain Vox to the chair instead, and he, The Radio Demon, would be the one to string Vox up like a doll.
Anything to vindicate himself of his painstakingly-slow plan that he slowly started to resent himself for.
‘Focus,’ he muttered to himself, disappointed in himself for his crumbling patience.
He had been in worse positions before, hadn’t he? Yes, his bladder was bursting at the seams from how long he had been stuck in the chair. But he prevailed, remembering the times when he had long radio segments to get through, or the times he was busy hauling a body through the woods to take a quick leak, or even the blurry memory of his father locking him in his room for long enough hours to ache his bladder. His noted resilience over the last century should have kept his mind off his bladder, except they were memories all about it and so he gritted his teeth harder. Naturally, his stomach joined the pity party and growled angrily from lack of sustenance, and then Alastor tried remembering how starved he was throughout The Great Depression, which only left him with the same effect: hungrier.
‘By Hell, why am I focusing on all that trivial stuff?’ He scoffed at himself. ‘It shouldn’t take more than a day. Surely not more than a day…’
His eyes were heavy, becoming heavier, gradually drooping closed against his will. If Valentino and Vox were asleep, he could sleep– no, he couldn’t let his guard down. But he wouldn’t have another chance to rest his eyes for a little while, would he? His shadow waved at him frantically, deterring the man from sleeping, until it watched helplessly as Alastor’s uptight posture slouched forward.
Just as he closed his eyes, they snapped open to the booming alarm on Valentino’s nightstand. Alastor’s ears shot up immediately. The lustrous bug stirred, yawned, outstretching his long naked limbs, and when he turned over to meet Vox’s bouncing logo for a face, he looked past him and laid eyes on the deer.
‘Morning, Bambi,’ sang the amused overlord, his grin wide.
Alastor didn’t answer back, only glared, albeit with telling eye bags that didn’t have the other fooled.
‘Aw, poor doe. But not my problem,’ Valentino shrugged. ‘Voxy,’ he irritably tapped Vox’s screen. ‘Vox, wake up!’
‘Ugh. Fuck off, Val,’ Vox grumbled and turned away, his eyes blearily staring ahead, his screen no longer the bouncing logo but a groggy face instead.
Hell always looked impossibly red from beyond Vox’s bedroom window, but why did it look more three-dimensional and redder than ever? When did Hell start grinning back at him with yellow teeth? Suddenly, Hell became personified; Vox would say as much outside of his current situation, for Alastor was most definitely the embodiment of Hell in Vox’s eyes. However, he entirely forgot about the deer, who remained stoic with a trained grin on his face, disregarding all his internal problems once Vox became entertaining to him again.
‘Al! Al? Wha–’ He jumped up in bed, pointing accusingly at Alastor. ‘Why the fuck are you here! Wh– Oh, shit…’ He then, much to both Valentino and Alastor’s rolling eyes, cleared his throat and dulled his formerly alarmed face. ‘Oh shit! I really did it! It wasn’t a dream.’
From behind him, Valentino needily tugged his arm. ‘Voxy–’
‘How’d you sleep, my big bad radio demon?’ Vox snaked out of bed and over to Alastor’s side, wearing nothing but boxers much to Alastor’s aggressive sneer and roaring static, and Vox smugly grinned close to the other’s face. ‘You look tired. But maybe the chair is too comfortable for you. You can sleep on the floor tomorrow, you’re less likely to doze off then.’
‘Vox!’
Alastor snorted. ‘You believe there will be a tomorrow? Please, Vox, continue living in your delusions. It amuses me.’
‘Vox, damnit!’
‘What Val?’ Vox snapped around.
Valentino’s legs were swung out of bed, almost ready to storm off had Vox not paid him any attention. Now that Vox did, he slowly climbed back into bed and laid sexily across the bed.
‘I saved ten minutes of my morning for you, Voxy. And,’ he lit his enchanting cigarette and puffed smoke towards Vox’s direction, luring out Vox’s dumb aroused smirk and also a scrunched up, disgusted reaction from Alastor. ‘I would be thrilled to put on a show for Bambi.’
To Alastor’s surprised brows, Vox’s aroused smirk flipped upside down into a face of horror. ‘Val, baby,’ he awkwardly chuckled his way over to the bed, leaning into Valentino’s ear. ‘I… I can’t get it up if he’s… watching.’
‘You can’t get it up if he’s watching!’
Vox slapped a hand to his face and sank into the bed. Alastor stifled the tickling urge to laugh aloud.
‘Fine, you ungrateful whore!’ Valentino wrapped his wings tightly around him, snarling back at Vox on his way out. ‘Don’t come begging to me later for it, Vox. Be with Bambi for as long as you want!’
‘Really, Val? Are you seriously jealous of him?’
They were words he should have swallowed, if he knew what was about to happen.
‘How can I not be, Vox?’ Valentino stormed over to Vox’s clean wardrobe. In an instant, Vox started to clamber off the bed, his pleas distant and ignored by the overlord. ‘You don’t have a body pillow with me on it! You can get it up for this, but not for the real deal?’
The damage was done. The body pillow flew across the room and onto the bed, landing perfectly for a two-dimensional, slutty posed and barely dressed Alastor to stare back at tied up, conservative Alastor. He didn’t know how to act; his ears didn’t even flatten, they only straightened up tighter than ever, as though the pillow threatened him more than his whole life in Hell ever did.
Valentino had long left after he hauled the pillow across the room, leaving Vox to leap at it and cover it with his sheets, gawking and stuttering at the deer. ‘That– I did not–’
And the dam of laughs broke apart. ‘Oh, Vox,’ Alastor giggled hysterically at him, the chair threatening to fall backwards with how hard he kicked his legs amid the laughter. His bursting bladder almost gave out. ‘I know I inspire you greatly, but that? Was your rebound not good enough for you?’
‘Val is not my rebound,’ Vox lied through his gritted teeth. Still, Alastor continued to bark laughter at him, so Vox moved off the bed and grabbed his nearest clothes, which his wires neatly clothed him in. ‘Laugh it out, Al. ‘Cause this is the last time you get to.’
‘Oh please,’ Alastor’s laughter died down to weakened snickers. ‘You buffoons embarrass yourselves enough. I can’t help but watch and enjoy the entertainment.’
‘You really find this entertaining?’ Vox grabbed Alastor’s chin, forcing his doe eyes to meet Vox’s aggravated ones. ‘How’s your back feeling, Bambi? Is your ass sore yet? Do you need a baby nap? Or do you–’ It was as if karma hunted down the deer, all with Alastor’s stomach growling obnoxiously, deepening Alastor’s scowl. Vox’s grin grew. ‘You hungry, Al? I can spoon feed you.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Better yet,’ Vox grabbed a fistful of the deer’s hair, forcing a hiss out of the man, and he leaned in to breathe his words into one of the deer's ears. ‘I think I should help freshen you up, don’t you think?’
It couldn’t take more than a day, Alastor reassured himself again, while Vox wheeled the deer into his bathroom. Alastor knew he would be back in his own bathroom as soon as the day was over, back in his old-fashioned, warmly lit environment, that had various bottles dotted about as effective clutter– except for Niffty’s crown, he made sure to hang that on the mirror. He imagined his homely hotel en-suite, instead of the sleek, cold, modern bathroom ahead of him. Dark navy walls, an open shower with just glass for privacy, a boxy sink with a boxy mirror and a boxy toilet next to it because that bastard of a picture box was exactly that: a picture box.
A man with corners, with sharp edges, but sides Alastor could smooth over very easily into a predictable, everlasting cycle.
‘How depressing.’
‘Aw, you don’t like it?’ Vox tutted him. ‘It beats bathrooms from the 1950s. You see…’
The rambling went through one deer ear and out the other. But he did focus on what Vox’s hands were doing. Vox loosened the wires from around Alastor, unwinding him from his bound state, until he was finally free to stand. His arms, legs, ass, they were unbearably tingly and numb; for a second, he doubted there was any use in them anymore. He flexed his fingers some more and the blood rushed back to them, the same applied to his legs, and once the feeling returned to his ankles, he steadily stood from the chair and turned around with a blissful smile.
If not for the deal, he would have thrown a heavy fist into that yapping flat screen. But Alastor knew he couldn’t throw away his plan for instant gratification.
‘Well, old pal,’ Alastor stretched his arms, legs, and neck, cracking his bones all over. He was tempted to bend over and stretch his backside, if Vox wasn’t there; the man would rapid-fire lewd comments immediately. ‘Don’t you have pressing work to do? Work that’ll make you a god.’
Vox grinned like an idiot. ‘As much as I’d love to watch my new twink shower himself,’ Alastor raised his brow at him. What did Angel say a twink meant again? ‘You’re right, for once. I have plenty to do! Heaven won’t wait for my success.’
‘Dear, I know I’m not that low on your priority list,’ the deer booped Vox’s screen, making Vox blush and roll his eyes. ‘And I know there’s cameras in here.’
‘Actually, dear– heh, deer,’ Alastor glared. Vox sighed. ‘If I knew you were going to offer yourself up–’
‘I didn’t–’
‘Then I would have installed cameras. But no, those are in Val’s bathroom,’ he grumbled the latter. ‘With or without cameras, the deal’s still as thick as–’
‘Don’t finish that.’
Vox smirked. ‘So, don’t go running off. You have… ten minutes.’
‘Is that how long your showers are, Vox? And you call me smelly,’ Alastor grinned his way over to the shower, snobbishly looking over the products. ‘Two-in-one? Surely not for you and your flat head, or for that bald moth.’
‘It’s for guests– prisoners, because I knew you– That I'll have, and had, many,’ Vox cleared his throat with a cool smile.
Alastor cocked his head to the side, smirking knowingly at Vox. ‘And is the coconut body wash also for me?’
‘It’s for all my prisoners,’ but yeah, just for you, Al. ‘Nine minutes,’ he warned as he walked backwards towards the door. ‘If you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a snack. I know you’re hungry, after all.’
Before Alastor could throw the chair at Vox’s face, the overlord left. ‘Seriously, a two-in-one bottle?’ He muttered back to the shower, staring into the shower head to search for hidden cameras despite what Vox said; to trust that picture box was worse than selling one’s soul, he knew that well.
His shadow finished the search for him so that he couldn’t waste anymore of his precious alone time. He pressed the shower’s big button, well-versed with such modern showers after the hotel’s reconstruction– a process he wasn’t part of, and the consequences of which were advanced appliances in the kitchen and upgraded en-suites, to no say of his own. As the room steamed up, only then did he stand in front of the mirror, wiping it clean of condensation to stare at his exhausted eye bags. It was no wonder Vox remarked on his sleep.
After he emptied his bladder, a matter that couldn't wait another second, he toyed with his collar for a silent minute in anticipation for what was to come. He unbuttoned his jacket and draped it over the towel rail, then he undid his bow and shirt buttons until his gaping wound glared back at him. From all of Vox’s pulling and swinging Alastor’s body into buildings, along with Valentino’s bullseye punch and Vox ripping his stitches apart, it left the wound bleeding continuously the longer he went without any real treatment. He started to wonder if his green stitches did anything. But they must’ve, if he was able to stand and talk and sing and taunt Vox, things he needed to accomplish to come out of his plan alive.
Reluctantly, he undressed completely and stood inside of the steaming shower, just beside the stream of boiling water threatening him and his wound. It would be less painful to shower in acid rain. He hugged his abs and protruding ribs, remembering the first time he bathed his wound in scorching water, and how he ruined the tub’s sides from his claws gripping onto it for dear life, and that he almost chewed through his arm from muffling his agony.
‘It’s no wonder he’s given me a two-in-one,’ he chuckled, if not to dampen the pressing need to relive that pain, for the third time since Adam’s battle. ‘I only have six minutes left.’
He stepped a step of faith, forcing his hooves to stand him beneath the hellish water, and it was hell. Without a tub to ruin from his claws, he dragged them down Vox’s pristine tiles, leaving the trails of his pain carved into them. He bit his lip, letting his bleeding lip and pulsing wound paint the bottom of the drain red.
Five minutes left.
He scrubbed the two-in-one into his hair, between his antlers, away from his ears– the cursed things loathed any bathroom product, he learned that the hard way.
Four minutes left.
After he rinsed it thoroughly, he painstakingly rubbed the body wash into his skin, even over the wound that protested aloud.
One minute left.
He almost couldn’t pick himself up from the shower floor. The agony soared through his senses, rendered him a heap of hopelessness sat in the residue of body wash and leftover two-in-one. Maybe he was clean enough. It was enough for that day.
The hot water steamed up the glass enough to shield Alastor from Vox, who zapped back into the bathroom after exactly nine minutes. Rather than bark orders at the deer, Vox froze in place, his wide eyes full of pity rather than mocking. After all, the radio demon was sitting on the shower floor, his head tucked into his knees– and with that, his tail was also between his legs–, his ears were flat, and he outstretched his hand towards where he sensed Vox to be.
‘My clothes.’
Vox picked up the tattered clothes from the rack, frowning down at the fabric. They were thickly scented with blood and muck from the city’s streets, caused by their battle. For a second, knowing Alastor wouldn’t look up, Vox pressed his screen to the fabric and felt bliss in the deer’s scent. But in the same breath, he dropped the clothes and cursed himself because his prized deer was sitting naked in his shower, waiting to be handed clothes.
But he couldn’t give Alastor his dirty, torn suit. ‘One second.’
‘Vox–’
He quickly sought out some of his spare clothes, returning to the bathroom in a heartbeat, and shoved a lump of clothes into Alastor’s confused grasp.
‘This isn’t my suit.’
‘Yeah well, your suit needs to be fixed and washed before you wear it again,’ snorted Vox, squeezing his eyes shut as he handed Alastor the clothes. He didn’t reopen them until he finished his good deed and turned around immediately. Though, hearing Alastor shuffle the clothes on was a temptation his nosy eyes almost fell victim to. ‘So, you need something else?’
Alastor glared into Vox’s backside, as if the man’s back muscles were smirking back at Alastor. Here he stood, just outside of the shower, in clothes that reeked of Vox’s cologne. A red turtleneck sweater, one with the tag still on, paired with flared black jeans and a black belt with a signature ‘V’ buckle.
‘My shoes?’
Vox’s screen flustered up, and rather than use his wires nonchalantly, he nearly tripped over to reach for Alastor’s shoes. ‘Obviously, I just– I was waiting for you to ask for them, like the begging dog you are.’ That was terrible.
Alastor chuckled, the genuine kind that tickled Vox’s chest. ‘Oh, you are quite the character.’
He reached for his shoes after Vox slid them over, and despite the deer being dressed head to toe, Vox had yet to turn and look at him. But as Alastor bent down to grab them, he hissed out from his tensing chest muscles, aggravating the gaping wound his pathetic stitches barely held together. Vox snapped around, so fast that his screen nearly snapped off.
‘Easy,’ Vox warned softly, it barely being a warning for the deer, especially with the way he steadied the other by the waist as if Vox didn’t have a hating bone in his body. The touch paralyzed Alastor, so much so that his witty mouth had yet to say something. Rather, his mouth was stuck in an agape, stunned smile. Judged by the lack of protest, Vox knelt down to pick up one shoe and then he patted his leg. ‘Put your hoof here.’
Slowly, Alastor raised and lowered his hoof to Vox’s quad, but not without his mouth finally mustering a whispered question. ‘What is this, Vox?’
‘It’s called help, Al,’ Vox ever so delicately slipped the hoof into the shoe, eyes focusing on the job rather than Alastor’s baffled face. ‘I know you think it’s weird or weak, but I don’t care. You’re hurt,’ he muttered bitterly to himself as he slipped the other hoof in, not even questioning how or why Alastor was complying with him. ‘Hurt because of Adam, because of me. I shouldn’t have ripped out your stitches, and I–’
‘Vincent.’
Vox finally looked up, not because his shy self wanted to, but because those petite yet dangerous red nails tilted his screen up, forced to gawk at Alastor’s soft smile and pitiful eyes. He wasn’t facing The Radio Demon, but he was facing good old Alastor.
‘You can’t treat me like this, Vin,’ sighed the deer, grimacing to his following words. ‘I appreciate your help, I do. I imagine your other hostages are tortured more than this.’
‘You feel tortured? What can I do to–’
‘Stop,’ his grip on Vox’s screen tightened, only by a fraction, though his pity and softness turned into something of a protective sternness. ‘Because if the other two catch wind that you’re treating me like a guest and not a hostage, they may take matters into their own hands. And what would happen to us then, when they react adversely to your pity? You’ve cultivated a brand of merciless icons to Hell, The Vees, and that is all Valentino and Velvet know, perhaps even Vox,’ a flicker of disappointment came over him, which Vox caught and mourned with his look away from the deer. ‘Don’t lose yourself, Vincent. But for the benefit of you and I, be the Vox they’ve accustomed themselves to.’
Vox steadily stood, able to look Alastor in the eyes again, albeit still with an insecure demeanor. ‘Thanks, Al. But by now, I should be able to come up with this stuff on my own.’
‘There’s no harm in some help, yes? I’m certain a picture-box someone told me that– why, he told me that today!’ Alastor gleefully reminded and patted Vox on the head. Embarrassingly, Vox smiled instantly.
That mushy-feels smile, the one Vincent always shot Alastor with, with the same skin-crawling effect as it did years ago. Did he hate it? Love it? He refused to answer himself.
‘Perhaps, after I am freed tomorrow,’ the deer looked Vox up and down, grinning all the more at Vox’s streak of glow across the face. ‘We should become old pals again.’
And as if he couldn’t feel any more humility, Vox’s whole screen glowed brighter; the blush took over his body. ‘Of course we can, Al. Let’s–’
‘No, Vox,’ Alastor tutted. ‘I said... we should become old pals again.’
First, Vox squinted at him, wanting nothing more than to simply repeat his eager agreement. But then the cogs finally shifted him into gear, they restored his sinister grin and aggressive movements, proving himself when he grabbed Alastor by the neck and threw him into the chair. In the back of his mind, where Vincent was kept behind the bars of Vox’s sadism, he wondered if Alastor let himself get thrown into the chair or if he was hurt by it, and if Vox should immediately apologize.
But Vox didn’t care for it, he wouldn’t let himself care for the deer who merely grinned back with a touch of pride in his eyes. ‘After what you did? I should kill you for that, Alastor,’ Vox laughed bitterly, as the deer slowly crawled onto the chair, sweating glistening from his wound that most definitely re-opened again. ‘But here’s a better idea, Bambi. You’re going to be one of my tools for when I take over heaven.’
‘Love to hear it, old pal–’
The slap echoed beyond the four bathroom walls, its devastation so loud that it could have shattered the shower’s glass panels. Vox stood there, frozen, watching as red nail streaks formed on the deer’s red cheek because of his pesky demon claws; they made slapping look more like a cat scratch. Vincent, Vox, they both itched to reach out and caress the deer’s pained cheek.
However, as though Alastor’s tall ears picked up on the hesitance, Alastor looked back up at Vox with a stubborn, approving grin. ‘I don’t believe I understand, Vox. Not when you’re simply petting me with your claws. Is that why you compensate with those wires of yours?’
Vox scoffed out a laugh of disbelief, grabbing a fistful of Alastor’s wet hair. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? My little masochist.’
‘And you’re not enjoying this enough.’
‘Excuse me? Then I’ll–’
Vox stared at the fistful of hair in his grasp, his sternness disappearing in a heartbeat. Alastor followed his line of sight and sighed.
‘Damn it, Vin.’
Vox’s eyes turned into digital hearts, then the epitome of the tear-eyed emoji. ‘Your hair’s so fluffy and curly.’
‘Get me a straightener, and we’ll try this again.’
‘Okay, I'll be back in a second. Do you want a snack too?'
‘Go.’
Although his voice carried frustration across the bathroom, Alastor rolled his eyes and let himself smile goofy to only he and his suspecting shadow. Vox made him smile because of his entertaining idiocy, didn't it? His shadow may have believed otherwise, but that thing couldn’t protest what Alastor would tell everyone else: Vox was entertaining, as amusingly chaotic as the hotel which Alastor also found entertaining. Although, the wider his range of entertainment became, the less convincing his claims of it were.