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    Summary

    “And Lucifer,” Vox continues conversationally as he rubs his fingertips over the hot, strained fabric. “I know you’re not a big fan of the guy. I can see why—he is so beneath the both of us.”

    “Y-yes,” Alastor gasps, bucking into Vox’s touch. “He is.”

    “It was thrilling, wasn’t it? To see someone finally put him in his place. Completely decimate him in front of all those people; people who were once his.”

    “I—I’ve been wanting to do that.”

    “I’m sure.” Vox unbuttons Alastor’s slacks, slow and unhurried like he isn’t seconds away from snapping and just ripping all his clothes off. “But it was me who did it. I humiliated the King of Hell. Not you.”

    After the rally, Vox finds Alastor hot and bothered in his chair from watching him expertly manipulate the crowd. It's truly his winning day.

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