Chapter Text
The ring weighed heavy in Vox's hand as he stared at it. It had been hours since he went out and bought it, the dark navy blue steel band in which’s simplicity will surely make Alastor laugh. Vox has predicted it, two hours before dinner.
He swiveled in his office chair then waved the screens in front of him away, standing up from his desk and heading to the elevator, each footstep as heavy as the ring was. He shouldn't be nervous, not really. Alastor surely wouldn't reject him. They've gotten this far together anyway, why would he? If Alastor didn't love him anymore he would just say it straight to his face. There was nothing to be nervous about.
Oh, but on the contrary, Alastor did reject his partnership offer back then too, thinking Vox had ulterior motives. It took Vox months of relentless persistence of asking Alastor again and again until he found out Alastor thought he intended on using him. He remembers how deep he sighed before he told Alastor he was being genuine. Vox had a lot to prove with Alastor giving him his trust like that, and so far he was doing pretty good.
It makes Vox smile remembering it now. The elevator dings and the door slides open, Vox inhaling the delicious smell of Alastor's cooking in the air. It's been about 10 years since their official partnership first began. Vox wanted to do something special for tonight and what better way to celebrate than present his partner with a ring?
“Smells amazing,” Vox says as he turns to his left, Alastor cooking by the stove.
“Of course it does,” Alastor casts a glance at Vox. “Go clean up. The food is almost ready,”
Vox wastes no time when Alastor gives him a command. He leaves Alastor in the kitchen to shower and change into nicer clothes. Even if it's just dinner at home, it was still their 10th anniversary.
Alastor finishes plating the food just as Vox comes back, wearing a new shiny suit he bought recently just for tonight, pressed and doused in cologne. Vox comes up from behind and unties Alastor's apron, leaning over his shoulder slightly. “Your turn. I'll set the table,”
Alastor turns and faces the TV demon with a gentle grin, giving him a once-over, hands coming up to slide down his chest. “Sharp,” he comments on the suit. “It's been so long since you cleaned up so well. What's the special occasion?”
Yeah, Alastor definitely knew. “10th anniversary. That's a big milestone, isn't it?” Vox says, taking his hand off his chest to press a kiss on the knuckle.
The deer hums. “I suppose,” he eyed Vox carefully.
“Just go and change,” Vox huffs, rolling his eyes.
“Fine,” Alastor relents, wanting to get the smell of cooked flesh off him quickly before the food goes cold.
As Alastor leaves, Vox makes sure everything is perfect. The table settings, the utensils and its placement, the candle in the middle as well as many other candles scattered across the room to create some sort of romantic effect and dimmed the lights. When Alastor returns wearing a suit as brand new and cutting edge as his, Vox almost melts at the sight.
“You look hot,” Vox smirked, knowing Alastor didn't appreciate that term for himself. Alastor scoffs but lets it slide for tonight.
The speakers in the room connect and a gentle song plays as ambiance on top of everything. It makes Alastor chuckle at the lengths Vox was going for tonight. They rarely had time for these things anyway, may as well go big.
“How intimate,” Alastor reached the table where Vox proceeds to pull out the chair for him to sit.
“I'm the God of Romance, baby,” Vox grinned charmingly, taking his own seat across from him.
“I suppose I should trust you with our affectionate evenings?” Alastor snickered. Dumb joke.
“Obviously!”
They fall into easy conversation as they eat. A little banter here, a little flirting there, some under-the-table playful kicking at each other. A scenario that shouldn't exist in Hell but does. A scenario that shouldn't have existed in Alastor's life but does.
Alastor finds it so baffling. To die, just to meet the only man who's been consistently annoying enough to make you put your guard down in all your years of being conscious. What an interesting turn of events. He went from firmly believing this kind of life was not for him for the longest time. Yet this worm, this Vincent Whittman, just weaseled himself into his life. He's sure he would've hated him if they met when they were alive. Maybe even killed him. Then again, he could do that now too.
But why kill the one man whose attention actually matters? Especially when he's about to take this to the next level.
Vox had been quiet for a minute too long. He suddenly stood up, extending a hand towards Alastor, a shaky smile displayed on his screen. “Dance?”
This was it.
Alastor dabbed the mess on his lips on a napkin and left the chair with his hand in Vox's. They swerve into the middle of the room, finding themselves in their positions. Vox turned up the music on the speakers and lead Alastor in a slow dance.
This proximity, this feeling, a rush of something that Alastor never should have experienced. But his picture box, touchy creature he is, ignites it in him. Alastor loved his obsession. Alastor didn't mind taking care of him. Alastor respected him. His equal.
Alastor gets lost in the movement. Satisfying, kind and warm. In these moments, Vox's consideration shone brightest. The gentle way he guides him, the subtle buzzes in signal he sends him, the hand on Alastor's hip that's perfectly light in the way Alastor liked and how Vox's screen dimmed just right.
Vox gets lost in Alastor's face. His eyes calm, the thin layer of fur on his skin making Vox want to nuzzle into it, pepper kisses on him endlessly and just admire, his usually sinister grin eased into a small smile. This kind of beauty should be worshipped. His fingers twitched, pulling away with a step back, hands in Alastor's.
He knelt down on one knee. Here it comes. Alastor braced himself because although he knew it was coming, his palms still sweat. Even if he wasn't too surprised, he still held his breath.
Suddenly Vox's tongue is too big to say words. Was it Alastor's rare kindness that he didn't immediately make fun of him for losing his voice?
Vox took a breath in so deep that his gills sucked up the fabric of his undershirt. “Will you marry me?”
Fuck, why was that the first thing that came out?
Alastor's lips parted. “What?”
Fuck, why was that the first thing that came out?
“You heard me,” Vox snarled, face heating up. “Don't make me repeat myself,”
“Please repeat,” Alastor insists.
Vox never says no to Alastor easily. With a frustrated huff, he shifts slightly and clears his throat. “Will you marry me?” He says a little louder.
Alastor knew this was coming and yet still his heart stuttered. He turned that into a sputter, which turned into laughter. Now he has to make up a reason for why he's laughing or he'll look like the idiot here.
Vox stiffened up, eyebrows furrowing as he felt the embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Why are you laughing?! I'm serious here!”
Leave it to Alastor to ruin a moment.
Alastor wipes a tear from his eye. “Nothing, it's just hilarious. Marriage. You know you can't tie me down, right?”
Vox relaxed a little, his face softening. Of course he knows that. “Of course I know that. You'll always be you, but I told you a million times before. I love you, Alastor,”
I love you, Alastor.
You, Alastor.
“And I want to marry you. Maybe it's useless, an unnecessary part of a relationship, but in a traditional sense, it's… it feels right,” Vox sighs, digging into his pocket and pulling out the ring. “From the moment we met, I… haven't been the same. God, this is embarrassing. Let's just get this over with,”
“No, no, keep going,” Alastor says, just a little too soft. “You know I love your praise,”
Vox smiles at that. “Okay. I'm obsessed with you, Alastor,”
You, Alastor.
“Chasing you is an addiction, sometimes I can't tell the difference between that and love.” Maybe it's the same thing? “I'd destroy realms for your smile. Fuck Heaven and fuck Hell. Nothing else matters not when it's you,”
Vox puffed his chest. “So if you'll have me, will you marry me?”
A pause. Alastor was relishing the moment.
“A-and I've already asked three times so quit stalling and just give me an answer already!” Vox adds just before Alastor opens his mouth.
“Oh Vincent, how silly of you,” Alastor knelt down with him, hands coming up to the sides of his screen to pull him in. “Of course I will,” he closes the distance and presses his lips against the surface.
Vox kissed back, however that worked. It was deep but patient and careful. There's electricity between their lips when they pull away, the both of them looking stupidly bashful.
“You're mine now, yes?” Alastor tilts his head, knowing how much Vox adores it when he does that.
Vox shakes his head, going in for another kiss. “I’ve always been yours,”
Is that still the case?
Alastor stared at his finger at the ring. How could such a small thing hold so much meaning?
He twists the band with the index and thumb on his other hand, fidgeting it in silence. As much as he wanted to, Alastor forced himself not to sneak around and keep up with what his Vincent has been up to all these years. He'd catch him too quickly. Vincent's obsession ran deep and even if Alastor commanded his shadow to lurk around the Pride Ring, Vincent would know. Alastor couldn't risk it.
What was Vincent doing now? How was the tower coming along? How did he react when he realized Alastor wasn't coming back soon? Was he okay without him? Did he have someone else now?
The questions and paranoia filled his brain. Surely Vincent wouldn't move on from him, right? He was obsessed with him, after all! Surely he wouldn't…
Stupid picture box. He's got Alastor all worked up. If Alastor wasn't so concerned about what Vincent was up to, he wouldn't have this much trouble fulfilling this task for Rosie. Or maybe if Rosie hadn't given him such a torturous task, he wouldn't be like this. Or maybe if Alastor just kept rejecting Vincent and pushed him away until he got tired of asking even if it took years he wouldn't feel this way in the first place.
Stupid picture box.
Vincent was his, right?
Was Vincent thinking about Alastor as much as he was thinking about him?
It's a demanding morning, Vox barking and screaming at his employees and even the two other Vees when he got really heated. There's just so much work to do in the winter days that should be spent on relaxation, if only he wasn't surrounded by idiots. He couldn't even relax when he cooked his meals, everything turning into char.
The last two years have been especially busy for VoxTek. With the combined power of the three Vees, they've taken over the media completely, which meant power but it came with a heavy workload. He didn't have time to think about anything else these days.
“Get it fucking done by today!” He yelled into the phone at his assistant. This time of the year especially kept him on edge. The winter, the snow, the cold. It brought him back to that night 7 years ago, the last he'd seen of Alastor.
Vox scoffs as he falls into his office chair, turning to face the large window in the room looking over the city. Even in Hell, December was beautiful.
A deep sigh escapes him as his phone rang for the hundredth time that day. Seriously, was everyone so incompetent that they needed his outlook on everything? Not that Vox would even approve of vision from anyone else below him but it's not his fault no one matched his frequency. Not like Alastor did.
“What?” He growled into the phone, already having enough of today and it's only the afternoon.
Velvette's voice rang from the other end. “Oi, letter from Carmilla. Overlord meeting this weekend. Or do you need me to stand in for you again?” She suggested but doesn't sound too pleased about it.
Vox pinched the middle of his screen where the bridge of his nose would be. “Yeah. I do,” his schedule was already packed the whole week, even the weekend. “It's probably just about the extermination coming up,”
What's the point of even going to a meeting if Alastor wasn't there with him?
The exception. Even with everything going on, he'd always be thinking of Alastor.
“Anyway the meetings are a waste of time,” he takes a long sip of coffee.
Velvette huffs on the other end. “And I have to waste my time on them?”
“You know you'll just be on your phone all the time anyway,” Vox shoots back, rolling his eyes. “At least one of us has to go. Ask Val to spot you if you so badly don't want to go,”
“Fine. Don't overwork yourself, V,” Velvette says last before she hangs up.
What an uncharacteristically kind tone she used, too. Vox is overwhelmed with everything around him. He puts his phone faced down on the table and buries his own screen on its surface too. It's been too long since he'd shut down comfortably. Was it ambition that made him want to do so much work in the first place or was the work numbing to his overloading mind?
He closed his eyes for just a few seconds when his antenna suddenly felt a buzz. Faint, but there, and certainly enough to not ignore. What was that? He shot up and looked around. Nothing. Was it his imagination?
For that split second, it felt like his entire life flashed before his eyes, like he was violently stabbed with nostalgia. On instinct, he pulled up at least 30 screens, eyes roaming as he rapidly looked through them. He then switched the cameras, then repeated the process, looking like a madman searching aimlessly for a needle in a haystack.
Alas, nothing important caught his eyes. The buzz was gone and perhaps nothing important after all. What a waste of an entire hour.
It's getting dark, he should get started on dinner.
Love.
Indescribable and a puzzle Alastor decided did not exist, for the longest time. A feeling that transcends anyone's understanding. Actions and words could depend on it, but it could not depend on actions and words.
The only person Alastor has loved was his mother but he doesn't even remember the sound of her voice anymore. Just her face, vaguely, but most prominently what she smelled like. Old wood and spices and lavender. She died long before she could watch Alastor grow up, which is a good thing. At this point she must be wondering what's taking Alastor so long to come back to her. A shame. He can't even tell her himself.
What a surprise to find that she would be the first and yet not the last person he would love. Could Alastor define it as love? He always said he adored his mother to anyone who asked (one or two people, including Vincent). Maybe that was a thought for next time.
But she wasn't around enough for Alastor to really savour love. To understand it, to give it, to receive it. Every time he thought about Vincent in the seven years he'd been gone, this is what especially comes to mind. Vincent had taught him it, patiently, under Alastor's terms. Vincent had given too much of it for someone as cold as Alastor. Vincent gave so much, Alastor learned to crave it. Seven years was torture.
Walking down the sidewalk of the city felt so strange after so long. It's dark but it's much easier to see the differences when every sinner has retreated home for the night, leaving the streets empty and bare. New billboards, more neon lights, slightly taller buildings, the television boxes in the window were thinner, sharper, brighter. He wonders if Vincent's head changed again too. He'll find out soon enough.
Alastor can barely contain the excitement in him at the thought of seeing his Vincent again even if he was trying his hardest not to let his frequency get so loud for Vincent to receive. He's sure he'd let it slip a few times but it should be fine if he managed to hide in the shadows fast enough.
Now he stood before Vincent's treasured tower. It looked tall, taller than Alastor remembered it, now with the additional V on the sign at the top. Alastor internally sighed to himself because sure, what's another person to add to the tower like it was some kind of hotel? Oh, well.
Alastor seeped into the darkness in the ground, gliding through it up the building and to the penthouse. The room was darker than the outside, except for the kitchen area. Like a spotlight on a stage. The strangest part of it was that there was a serving of jambalaya simmering in a pot on the stove but nobody present. Had Vincent hired a cook? Did he miss him that much? Or was this the work of someone else Alastor otherwise wouldn't approve of? He tosses the latter thought away.
The ring on his finger burned along with his skin and his heart. Suddenly a rare feeling engulfed him; fear.
Alastor appeared in front of the stove, the smell much more pungent this close. It smelled good, actually, enough to make Alastor's mouth water. He didn't have the pleasure to have any home-cooked meals while he was gone. To return to jambalaya of all things…
He unbuttons his jacket and tugs it off his shoulders, tossing it onto the island behind him. He rolls up his sleeves and picks up the wooden spoon set on the table, already stained by sauce and begins stirring the contents in the pot before it starts burning. A portion for one.
The movement is soothing. Alastor's mind wanders, thinking of how normal this felt. It makes him want to dance.
Click. The door to the bathroom closes and Alastor freezes up. The only other man that could possibly be in this room, ever, is Vincent.
Alastor is too afraid to turn, his blood running cold. He hasn't even looked at the man yet and he already feels like crying. Shit, get it together.
Neither of them move, or say anything.
Alastor has to turn. He has to turn around.
He has to turn around. How was this harder than taking someone's life?
With feet so numb he's sure they're paralyzed, Alastor turned on his heels. The grip he has on the wooden spoon could break the damn thing. He held his breath and there Vincent was.
The man he loves.
The man he loved was home. What the hell does someone do in this situation?
The man he loved was gone for seven years and suddenly he's here watching over the dinner he was preparing for one, for himself, because his husband wasn't here.
Vox's first thought escapes his mind. It's a mix of a lot of things but nothing could come out of his mouth. His lips had gone dry, however that worked, and his chest panged. He wanted to hug the man, kiss him, punch him and kill him all at the same time.
“Vincent?” His name, the name no other sinner has called him by in the last seven years, echoes through the room and stabs Vox in the heart. A direct hit. In the voice he thought he'd never hear again.
“Alastor?” He manages to call back, his voice coming out cracked, sounding almost like a desperate plea, silently begging please God, please let it be him.
A tear escaped his eye, running down his screen, reminding him that time hadn't stopped and Alastor was a being of sound, mind and body who had made its way over, sparing Vox that much.
Fear and hesitation kept Alastor's hands to himself but his need to touch Vincent overwhelmed it. They find themselves placed on the sides of his Vincent's head. It's thinner.
“My dear, did you miss me?” Alastor says just loud enough for it to not show how much he wanted to sob at that moment.
What kind of fucking question was that?
It grounded Vox, brought him back to reality like a much needed slap and he could breathe again. He sees the way Alastor's smile softens through the blurriness of his eyes and anger starts up inside him. His expression changed, hardening as his own hands grabbed Alastor's shoulders roughly.
“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!” Vox screams like he had been doing just this morning, only much louder and much angrier.
He shakes him, perhaps a bit too roughly, but Vox is too shaken to his core to realize the gravity of what he was doing. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! WHERE HAVE YOU—” Vox shoves him away with a grunt, sending Alastor stumbling back, just barely stable on his feet.
Vox hates the smile he knows Alastor can't just make disappear. He knows it's literally sewn into his fucking face, but it doesn't make him any less angry.
“DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU?!” Vox grit his teeth, pointing at Alastor as the tears in his eyes started to boil with how red-faced he was getting. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I'VE BEEN?!”
Alastor keeps his mouth shut, knowing Vincent needed to let this out, and Alastor deserved this.
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE… I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD!” Vox started to hyperventilate, his system going haywire, his own heartbeat ringing in his ear. He frantically grabbed at the upper sides of his head, gripping hard as if he had hair to tug at.
“FUCK!” he shut his eyes tight, tears flowing past his eyelids. He coughed and hiccuped, breathing staggering tremendously until he began sobbing. He sobbed, sniffling, throat burning, head screaming with all the words he wanted to say. “You… you…”
The sight was pitiful in a way that wasn't amusing, which was a first. Alastor doesn't know if he should do something now or wait. No, screw waiting. Vincent has been waiting for seven years.
Alastor takes a big step forward and lunges into Vincent, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly. Vincent tries to push him again, but finds he doesn't have the strength to. Or he didn't really want to.
“Get…” Vox muttered weakly. “Off…”
Alastor shakes his head. “No,”
“...Alastor, the food is burning,”
Oh, right.
Alastor places the bowl down in front of Vox, the latter staring at the surface of the kitchen island, recollecting himself. Vox doesn't even give the food a glance, head tilting upwards to look directly at Alastor. When he does, a tsunami of sadness takes over and drowns him as he begins to cry all over again. So fucking pathetic. His husband was back.
Vox sighed, palm wiping his tears away.
“You'll get sick if you cry so much,” Alastor says, which is very much not the best thing he could say right now. He definitely earned the glare Vox gave him then. Alastor backs down, nodding to show he acknowledged his mistake. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me,”
The food will get cold if Vox decides not to eat it soon but Alastor can't say that either. Fuck, he was bad at this.
“Are you not even gonna explain yourself?” Vox asks, of course, the question Alastor dreaded most.
What is he even supposed to answer with?
“I can't tell you,” Alastor answers before he could properly think his words through. Vox is clearly unhappy with it.
“God, fucking… of course,” Vox cursed. “Why should I even bother to ask, right?”
Vox has been patient. Too fucking patient for his own good but this was his last straw. 70 fucking years of being married to Alastor The Radio fucking Demon, putting up with all his secrecy bullshit pretending it doesn't bother him.
“Do you even fucking care that we're married?” Vox asks again, sharp.
Alastor's eyes widened at that. “That’s — of course I care,”
“Then why did you disappear for seven fucking years?!” Vox shot up from his seat, slamming his hands on the island surface, causing Alastor to flinch back. “Without even… a note or a heads-up?! Or even when or if you'd come back?!”
Marrying Vincent was the worst thing Alastor could possibly do. All he did was hurt him.
“I’m tired, Alastor. I'm exhausted,” what did that mean? And why did it scare Alastor? “I just… I can't do this anymore,”
Alastor's heart booms.
He swallows. “Are you saying you want a divorce?”
Vox blinks at that. “A— what?! No! Fuck, of course not! Jesus…” he hissed rubbing one side of his head.
Alastor lets out a quiet breath of relief at that, his smile at its lowest it's ever been. He was really fucking bad at this.
“I'm talking about you and your fucking secrets you keep from me! Me! Your husband!”
Vox has been too patient.
“You don't even trust me,”
“Of course I trust you!” Alastor says too quickly, too offended when he doesn't even have the right to be.
“Then why don't you start with telling me why. Why seven years? Why did you leave?!”
Alastor bit his tongue. His deal with Rosie, his marriage with Vincent. His duty, his heart. His soul, his love. Love is such a pain.
“Because I was instructed to!” Alastor blurts out.
Vox obviously finds that ridiculous. Who would, could, tell The Radio Demon to disappear for seven years?
“By fucking who?! God?!”
“By—” no. Alastor couldn't. He shoved the answer sitting at the tip of his tongue down his throat before it slipped out. “I can't…”
“What? Can't tell me?” Vox narrowed his eyes, sharpening his glare.
Belonging to Rosie, belonging to Vincent. Two completely different things.
“The strongest sinner in Hell, everybody,” Vox rolls his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Alastor's ear twitched at that. When he remained quiet, Vox looked him up and down then started again. His voice is levels quieter. “I thought you died,” he repeated.
How did Vincent not want to divorce him?
Alastor shuddered, lips trembling. Great, it was his turn to cry. The man he loves is angry at him and he couldn't even argue back. The man he loves is hurt and he caused it.
Would it be easier on Alastor’s life if they divorced? If they broke apart and stopped seeing each other? No ties? No worrying about hurting someone again? No… all of this shit that was happening?
Life could be so much easier. But it was the last thing Alastor wanted.
Alastor didn't deserve it — the way Vincent gave up his anger to replace it with something more like concern for Alastor when he began to sob. Vincent had maybe seen him cry once before but this seemed too dramatic for Alastor.
“Al…” Vox calls in a soft whisper, still sounding as in love with Alastor as he was before like always, like nothing happened. It wasn't fair.
Alastor looks pathetic, disgustingly so. He wiped his tears away, trying to tame the tightness in his chest as he took a deep breath in. Fuck it.
“I made a deal,” he could just barely say, voice faltering with every word while he tried to maintain his composure.
Vox stills at that. Because what?
He's shocked, worried most of all, but he's angry again too. “You… you made a deal and didn't fucking tell me that either?”
Alastor took a deep, steady breath. “I was still human then,”
That only made Vox even more confused, understandably so.
Fuck it. Fuck it. Alastor has to explain himself before Vincent hates him. Not that he could, and not that he could stay mad at Alastor for long but God damnit Alastor had to at least be a decent husband. Be a little sensitive, and open. He owes Vincent that.
Vox scoffs. “What? What the fuck were you doing as a human to do that?”
Questions questions.
“I made a deal to become the strongest demon in Hell!” Alastor half-yelled, the admittance louder than the words that came out no matter how he delivered it.
Oh. That makes a lot of sense, actually.
“What's the use of being the strongest demon in Hell if your soul isn't yours, you idiot?” Vox sighs out, more worried about Alastor than anything else.
Alastor huffs. “My soul is mine, I’m simply… stuck with the debt I owe,”
“Which is?”
Alastor shakes his head. He can't say, not even if Vincent asks. This wasn't one of those things where he can keep asking either. The same way Alastor's smile is stitched in its place, his mouth was zipped shut from this deal. It's not something Vincent has control over.
Vox rubbed his screen with both hands, head hung as he grumbled. “Christ… you could've told me,”
The corner of Alastor's mouth twitched. Could he have? Could it have spared Vincent all his turmoil?
Vox remembers the nights he felt like dying. “It would've been a lot less… difficult. I would've understood,” he tried not to claw at his own face as his fingers curled into his palms. It hurt, so he forced himself to calm down again.
What are they supposed to do with this now?
“I’m really, really tired, Alastor,”
“I know,”
“I don't want to talk about this right now,”
“I understand,”
“Let’s just go to bed,”