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It’s a rainy day in Hell. Rainy days in Hell don’t happen all too often, if he’s honest to himself, but when it rains, it fucking pours. Almost nobody ever carries an umbrella because it’s just too unhandy to log around with you. And nobody trusts the weather forecasts because the forecasters are in Hell. And so, whenever it does rain, stores make a killing with selling umbrellas because naturally, they are ridiculously expensive.
Vox still bought one. He owns three already, but they’re no good in his apartment now are they? If he gets in just a couple more showers, he’ll be able to re-sell his stupid umbrellas. At least this one has a fish motif – the sharks had been sold out already, which he personally thinks is very rude.
Despite the umbrella, he doesn’t actually want to move on. He’s standing under a palisade, because it’s acid rain, it always is, but he has to move on. He has a meeting soon, technically, and he maybe shouldn’t be late for it. And he did just get the umbrella, it’s perfect timing for christening that bad fish boy. He’s still upset they aren’t sharks. Sharks aren’t even fish!
Sighing, he opens the umbrella and braves the rain. Good thing he’s covered from head to toe, at least that’ll mean he won’t get any acid on much of his skin. He’d rather not find out if the rain would interfere with his head. Who’d fix it, if he has a blackout? Even worse, what if he short-circuits and loses his memory, or some shit? Maybe he should start investing into safely stored back-ups somewhere. And hats, maybe.
Not many people are up and about, obviously, and the ones he does see are quickly scurrying to find some cover. Vox sows down a little. Maybe his meeting is getting postponed, considering the weather situation. It’s not like he could call, but since he’s already on the way, it would be illogical to not at least have a look. He’s expecting to not see anyone, and he wouldn’t even feel bad about it. It’s not far, at any rate. And if he doesn’t go, his pricey umbrella purchase will have been in vain, which he will not stand for.
What a surprise, the park is empty. There’s absolutely no cover here, so everyone would be avoiding it like the plague. He’s stupid for coming here; and it would make more sense to scour the cafés nearby, they are way more like to house his meeting. But they had agreed on the park at the designated time, and with no means of communication, the park it still is.
Stupidly, though, they hadn’t specified where exactly they would meet, as Vox had believed to be able to find the spot basically immediately. Now, it’s all just acid rain, and that makes it hard to properly see far ahead. It’s a little eerie, to be in the park like this, with nobody else around. This place is seen as a neutral zone by almost everybody – fights tend to move into the other direction whenever they move too close to it. Collateral damage does happen from time to time, of course, but most folk seem to try and avoid it.
Speaking of folk, Vox can see someone in the distance. Is it possible...? But he can’t see any umbrella. Surely he can’t sit in the rain like that? Vox starts to hurry up a little – not too much, of course, he doesn’t want to appear too needy even though he very much is so very needy.
“You’re here,” he breathes when he confirms who’s sitting on the bench all drenched.
“And you are late,” Alastor replies. “Was there a reason for your hold-up? Don’t tell me you got into a kerfuffle again.”
Vox pouts. “No, I didn’t. If you hadn’t noticed, it’s raining like dogs out here. I honestly thought you’d not be here.”
Alastor blinks and looks up, like he’s noticing the rain for the first time. The man is drenched, he must’ve been here at least since the rain started. Vox would’ve understood if he relocated, so why didn’t he? His hair is sopping wet, hanging down in his face, and even sticking to it. His ears, usually always up high and alert, had to bend to the water’s will and are dropping. And his suit is sticking to his body. Not that... Vox would notice that... he’s just... very observant. Yup, that’s it. In his business, he needs to pay close attention to chests, uh, trends.
“You are right. I hardly noticed. Regardless, now that you’re here, do you want to discuss your plans?”
Alastor has been insanely helpful in getting Vox onto his feet. The man has an insane knack for sniffing out the right trends at the right time and if he says something, stuff just fucking flies off the shelf. It’s hardly a wonder he gets swamped with bids for advertisement reads despite his reputation. He’s also one of the few people Vox would allow access to his head. The way his fingers look when he’s fixing a radio are... uhm, very skilled. Very skilled from a purely business standpoint, of course, nothing else.
“Alastor, it’s raining.”
“Hmm?”
He looks... weird. And not in his usual weird way, but normal weird, like someone normal might look weird. Vox steps closer and holds the umbrella over the both of them. Alastor continues to stare up at him. It’s cute, er, adorable, er, attentive.
“I’m not going to discuss my plans in the fucking rain. Where’s your umbrella?”
“Husk took it when he left. You wish to postpone the meeting, then? When are you next free? I’ll be busy on the weekend, but the following week, perhaps? Ah, but didn’t you say it was urgent? I’d not wish to be the cause of your production line to stagnate. Your investors would be so cross, I assume, although that’s a problem I know an easy fix to. Ah, what a mess, no?”
Vox has always been a little jealous of Husk. He and Alastor live in the same house, not that Vox knows the exact circumstances (Alastor invited himself in and Husk failed to grasp the appropriate time window to tell him to leave again) and Vox is only jealous because if he lived with Alastor, they could talk business much easier, that’s all. He definitely doesn’t want to watch the demon sleep, no, of course not, who would think so lowly of him?
“Let’s relocate,” Vox suggests, “you know I don’t live far.”
“And yet you still managed to not be on time. But very well, let’s go then. The sooner your ideas are finalised, the sooner you can start shipping, yes?”
He stands up and before he can plant his cane into the ground, he sways a little. Vox says nothing of it, but he’s seen it. He holds the umbrella over the both of them, at least he tries, but Alastor is a fucking speedster when he has a goal in mind. Vox ends up having to run after him, because he keeps needing to re-angle the umbrella.
Vox’s abode is nothing special, just a two-room apartment, but it’s enough for him. He used to live in basically a zero-room apartment, because the bathroom and the kitchen were part of the room he was sleeping in. It made having guests over for more than five minutes fucking impossible. It also forced him to constantly clean the toilet. Those had been dark times, and he’s quite happy he got to upgrade.
Alastor is shivering a little, now that they’re inside, but nothing in his face says he’s noticing it. Vox wants to ask if he’s okay, but that’s a touchy question, so he’d rather keep his trap shut.
“Do you, uh... want to shower?”
“No. Why?”
You’re dripping on my floor, Vox wants to say, but doesn’t. Sighing, he directs Alastor to wait a moment while he goes and grabs a towel. The couch is new, and he doesn’t want it to get wet already.
Luckily, Alastor obeys without any problems. He looks so dainty, uh, cute, uh, perfect, proper sitting on that towel. He’s crossing his legs like a – gentleman. Yeah, that’s okay. A raindrop is running down his face, and it gets stuck on his upper lip. Vox notices because uh, because... because it’s important to look your business partners in the face! Yeah, he’s the fucking king.
Vox puts down the slides, and explains his plans to Alastor. The man nods at the right times, chirping in occasionally. Vox would love to take him to a board meeting, but he’s refused ever since the first time. He’s come back then as simply a favour to Vox; to give him some credibility. A lot of people in this business claim to know the radio demon, or to have received his blessing, while Alastor never has any recollection of any of them.
Actually being able to drag him along gets a lot of doors to open up wide. Vox has no illusions: without Alastor he wouldn’t be where he is today. He might still get here, because he has trust in his gadgets, but it would take at least double the time.
“Do you like my plans?”
“Hmm. They are inspiringly uncreative, as usual. You’ve truly outdone yourself, my dear.”
That’s almost a compliment, or something, so Vox will count that as a win. He sits down next to Alastor and looks at him. He’s dried a bit, courtesy of being inside, but the shivering has gotten worse.
“Did it rain when you left the house?”
“No, it was sunny. Why?”
It had been raining for an hour when Vox had reached the park. Had he really been in the rain for more than an hour? That can’t be healthy. No wonder he’s cold and shivering. Vox fidgets with himself. He’s not a very dominant guy when it comes to Alastor; he’s way more prone to folding.
“Do you have anywhere else to be today?”
“No. Husker might expect me back, but he’ll be able to get drunk all on his own. Why, you have more plans to discuss?”
Vox shakes his head: “You want to stay over for dinner?”
Alastor pulls a face. “Dear, if I want a microwave meal, I can just go shoot myself in the face.”
...
Yeah okay fair. Vox is a terrible cook. How does he get Alastor under the shower? He’s no clue how to dry the man’s clothes that fast, though, so he’s a little at a loss. But he can’t send him out into the cold again, either.
“Uh... remember the movie I talked about? We could... watch that, if you want!”
Alastor blinks tiredly. “Please, darling, just speak plain. What’s got you so fussed up?”
“I... I don’t want you to catch sick. You’ve been shivering.”
As he says that, he squeezes his eyes closed, expecting death. Nobody just says that to the radio demon. And yet, nothing of the sorts happens.
“You’re right,” Alastor agrees, “now that you say it. I do feel a little cold.”
He rubs his hands together slowly, as if to generate some warmth.
“Take a shower,” Vox suggests again, “you can stay here until the rain passes. You can borrow some of my clothes, they should fit.”
Alastor looks at him with that damn smile on his face. It’s not the wide grin he usually sports while walking around. It feels more... intimate. It feels more like it’s specifically for Vox, somehow.
“Alright,” the demon agrees and stands up. “If I leave my clothes with you, will you start hanging them up?”
Vox nods and turns around. He’s not going to wait to be asked. He hears the rustle of damp clothes being taken of and he does have to fight the urge, but he stays victorious. He loathes himself for it. He wants to see some deer ass, damn it. O-on a professional level, of course, only.
When the door to the bathroom closes, Vox gets to work: he gathers the neatly-folded clothes and hangs them up, he vanishes into his bedroom to get a pair of pyjamas, and he orders some Chinese take-out. He even gets a nice blanket prepared. Once he’s done all that, he walks over to his TV set, trying to decide on what VHS they’re going to watch. The rain’s not supposed to let up until tomorrow midday, so Alastor might stay here a spell. Vox’s always wanted a sleep-over. For... business reasons because... that’s what one does with business partners. Yup.
It doesn’t take long for Alastor to re-emerge, and he lets a big cloud of steam out into the room. He’s wrapped from head to toe in a big towel and he looks adorable – no business reason for this one, sadly, and one of his ears is half-peeking out from the towel. Gods, Vox wants to eat him he’s so cute. Shush.
“I’ve put some PJs in the bedroom. I ordered take-out, too!”
Alastor raises his eyebrows, but says nothing as he walks into the adjacent room. Vox sneaks a glance at the hooves. Oh god he has hooves that’s the most adorable thing. No, no, he needs to get a grip. Deep breaths. Stop thinking with your dick and start thinking with your mouth. No that makes no sense.
“You have wider shoulders than me, Vox.”
The pants fit well enough, but he’s right, the top is too big. Cute, cute, cute, mine, mine, mine. The sleeves go halfway over his hands, oh gods he’s going to melt, and there’s a collarbone exposed. Vox is so proud of himself not jumping on that, He’s professional. Businessman. Horny. Whatever.
“Got you a blanket.”
Alastor’s ears perk up a bit and how did Vox not notice how fluffy his hair looks? The demon curls up on the couch and wraps the blanket around himself, sniffing at it. He says nothing but Vox knows what that blanket smells like. It’s his blanket, after all.
“You were right,” Alastor says, “I feel much better already.”
Vox smiles watching him.
“You can trust me sometimes, you know?”
“Yes. I do.”
Vox is glad sometimes that he can’t really blush anymore. Hearing that is... he’s not sure how to describe it. It makes him feel so many funky, funny feelings. Having the radio demon trust him... he might be one of the few people in all of Hell that get that honour.
They argue a little over what movie to watch until the food arrives. Vox wants to watch a rom-com, and Alastor tries to argue that the boy and the girl in the slasher are a couple and they die funnily, so it’s a rom-com. They settle on neither choice, and begrudgingly agree on watching a comedy instead. No romance, but Vox still thinks he won this bout a little more.
The food arrives and they settle on the couch. As Vox is clicking through menus, Alastor scoots closer with the blanket.
“You’re warm,” he says when he practically sits in Vox’s lap, and he tosses the blanket around Vox as well s well as adjusting it around the both of them. It’s a miracle Vox manages to hit the right buttons for the right menu.
They eat in silence, and mostly laugh at the same jokes. Alastor likes to do bits in-between and Vox is all too happy to indulge him. He looks much livelier than he did before, and Vox is glad to see it.
“This is nice,” Alastor speaks again as the credits roll.
“The film?”
“Yes. No. Being here with you. It’s nice. The film was... adequate. I would not have watched it by myself.”
Vox’s heart is beating loudly. Alastor is so close. He smells like Vox. He smells like Vox’s shampoo, and he smells like Vox’s clothes.
“You can always have that. Being here with me.”
“I... that’s not what I meant, Vox. It’s not... I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Can I kiss you?”
Alastor raises his head and stares at him with big eyes. It’s so tempting to just do it, and Vox’s eyes keep flickering down to Alastor’s lips. What would they taste like? Well, Chinese take-out probably, right now.
The man is twitching his ears and he looks indecisive. Then, he puts his hand against Vox’s chest and leans up, giving him the cutest short peck of Vox’s entire existence. Vox can’t help but laugh softly.
“You...! I’ve, I’ve never done this before, you imbecile...!”
Gently, Vox cups Alastor’s face in his hand and leans forward, kissing him. It’s obvious Alastor has no fucking clue what to do, but that makes it all the sweeter, somehow. Vox would love to involve his tongue, but that’s maybe better for later. Alastor’s hands already don’t know where to go and he quite enjoys their frantic searching for the proper placement.
He lets off, but stays close. His thumb is gently caressing the corner of Alastor’s mouth and he’s smiling.
“What’d you think?”
Alastor averts his eyes. “I... I’m not sure. I don’t want to do it again right now. Or, ever, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Vox says, “do you want to hold my hand?”
“Yes,” Alastor breathes, clearly relieved, “I do want to.”
Alastor puts his hand, his cute little hand, into Vox’s and he slowly closes his fingers around it. Alastor moves his fingers around until he’s able to intertwine them. He pulls them up and looks at them.
“I saw that in a movie. Is this right?”
Vox smiles and nods.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Do you want to hug me?”
Alastor thinks on it a little, and then shakes his head.
“No. I just... I just want to sit here with you. I want to listen to the rain, and sit here with you.”
Vox nods. That he can do. He’s holding Alastor’s hand, and they’re just sitting here, listening to the rain.
And that’s good.