Chapter Text
Al recently started smoking again.
He had abandoned this nasty habit a few years before his death, and when he became a demon he simply forgot about that old guilty pleasure of his.
He was turning the cigarette in his slim, sharp fingers, inspecting it.
Alastor remembered the first time he had smoked a cigarette. He was fifteen years old, with messy dark curls and crooked teeth. He had stolen that craved cigarette, and even if his first drag gave him the most horrendous coughing attack, it was the most ecstatic experience in his whole life.
It wasn’t only about nicotine and its effect — it was the very fact of doing something forbidden by his mother, the rush of adrenaline that came with breaking rules.
Then smoking became a habit, and that specific smell clung to his hands and clothes even when he tried to get rid of it.
Those memories came to him with the first drag he took after all these years. He relaxed in the armchair; soft jazz music poured from his beloved gramophone.
Everything was in perfect order. Alastor even considered taking a nap after finishing his cigarette, but there was one detail that collided with his plan.
Picture Box was deep asleep on his couch, half-covered with a fluffy blanket, squishing Alastor’s vintage blood-red pillow with his large TV head. The sight was deeply grotesque — in fact, Vox’s screen was pitch black, and the only proof that the television demon was still alive was his relaxed breathing.
Alastor loved to observe the silly Picture Box during his yap sessions, but it was the first time he had caught his companion in such a vulnerable state.
They had been out drinking in their favorite bar in Pentagram City; Vincent had had a little too much liquor and soon became a babbling mess.
The Radio Demon wasn’t the type to invite just anyone into his sacred place, but he had decided to make one exception for Vox. Maybe the Picture Box would be even more amusing in this state.
The first thing Vox did when Alastor opened the door and excused the “mess” (the place was perfectly clean) was drop his clumsy body onto the couch and quickly fall asleep. Alastor was deeply struck by the television demon’s lack of manners, but it could probably be explained by Vox’s inability to verbally communicate in this state.
The other man decided to ignore Vox’s behavior this time and even trusted him enough to leave him alone in the living room for a moment.
Then Alastor’s train of thought was interrupted by a sudden electric buzz coming from Picture Box. Vox seemed to be slowly waking up; one of Alastor’s ears twitched as the buzzing grew louder. Vox’s screen slowly turned on, and Picture Box yawned, stretching his arms.
Al observed him with mild fascination, taking another drag from his cigarette. Vox seemed confused by the strange surroundings and by the sight of the Radio Demon.
“Did I… accidentally fall asleep on your couch?”
Vox asked, rising to a sitting position. He seemed embarrassed by having let his guard down in Alastor’s presence. Maybe Vox thought Alastor would now consider him weak or fragile?
Alastor felt something strange seeing Picture Box like this, his eyes still a little foggy from liquor and sleep.
“You did, my electric fellow! But I couldn’t care less — it was indeed quite amusing seeing you like this.”
Alastor’s permanent smile grew a little larger, observing Vox like a carnivore watching its prey. The Radio Demon decided to disappear into the shadows and then reappear on the couch next to Vox, still holding his cigarette.
“Try this!” Alastor said, showing Vox the cigarette he was clutching between his thumb and index finger. “My dear Mimzy showed me that nicotine and warm tea are the perfect medicine for a hangover! It will quickly cure your headache, I assure you!”
Vox wasn’t convinced, but why not give it a try? Also, putting his lips where Al’s had been mere seconds ago was a deeply pleasing thought in Vox’s opinion, so he quickly obeyed. The cigarette had a funky taste — not unpleasant, but not really good either. Something in it tasted like Alastor: metallic and sweet. Vox felt dizzy. He held the cigarette and tried really hard not to cough.
“Well… it wasn’t bad—” He couldn’t finish his sentence because Alastor interrupted him.
“Well! As I said, it works better with tea.” The said tea materialized in front of Vox; fine china filled with dark brown liquid that smelled like cinnamon and apples.
“This is my favorite one, please try!”
Vox obeyed again. The tea was indeed very good; it wasn’t too hot and helped quench his thirst.
Alastor watched him, amused, finishing his own cigarette. Vincent noticed that Alastor was a far more elegant smoker than him. Vox was mesmerized by the smoke curling around the Radio Demon’s head — he looked even more demonic than usual. Vox blushed.
“Do you want another cigarette?” Alastor tilted his head, lips forming a teasing smirk. He could see Vox staring at him.
“Why not?” the television demon shrugged, though he could feel his sweaty palms as he took (this time a new one from the pack) the cigarette from the Radio Demon’s elegant hand.
Alastor lit it for him (Vincent tried not to overthink this too much), and for a second Al’s sharp fingertip brushed against Vox’s flat screen. If Alastor felt the vibration from that sudden touch, he didn’t show it — but Vincent swore he could die again right now.
They smoked in silence for a while. Vox enjoyed Alastor’s company; even when the Radio Demon was silent, his presence alone was enough for Vincent.
He was also shocked by the red demon’s sudden generosity. They had known each other for a few years now (3 years, 67 days, and 21 minutes, to be exact), but it was the first time Alastor offered him something to drink and gave him a cigarette!
Of course, Alastor was a gentleman — despite being a murderous cannibal in Hell, his manners were flawless. He was polite towards Vox, teasing him with clever remarks from time to time, but he also kept a safe amount of distance from the television demon.
Vox could almost anticipate the day when Al would slip away from his fingers for good. It seemed that the Radio Demon didn’t want to get too emotionally engaged, that he was afraid of becoming attached. Vox wanted to assure Alastor he had nothing to worry about — that Vox didn’t plan to ever abandon him, that he loved— Vox was pathetic. Pathetic for loving Alastor, pathetic for being vulnerable around him, pathetic for wanting his feelings to be returned.
“It’s my favorite brand,” Alastor spoke again, breaking the silence. “Mimzy and Rosie told me I had horrible taste in cigarettes when I first smoked in their presence, but I can’t agree with them… I smoked as a human and then again as a demon, and for me it was never about taste.” He looked at Vox and continued: “The mere gesture of taking a drag, of taking that poison into your lungs, of that smell clinging to your fingertips for a while, reminding you what you did… It’s mesmerizing. It’s addicting. And it was my silly guilty pleasure I couldn’t control for a while — my mortal weakness.” Alastor leaned close to Vox, blowing smoke against his screen. “I hope I am not boring you, my fellow?”
Vox gulped and shook his head.
“Please, continue.” Vox also leaned closer, drowning in the other demon’s presence. He was trembling slightly, his voice a mere whisper. Alastor smiled, content, and continued.
“I like my cigarettes bitter — to make me shiver and make me want to wash off the taste with sweet liquor.” Alastor took another drag. Vox felt like it was the first time Alastor had said this much to him.
“I get what you mean…” Vox examined his own cigarette. “I never thought of cigarettes like that. As a human, I preferred alcohol, ya know.” He took a drag and relaxed on the couch. “But now I get it… it’s even worth that weird tickling feeling in your throat.”
Vox gave Alastor a very fond smile, his eyes sparkling with admiration — and something else — toward the Radio Demon.
Vox wanted to kiss him so much in that moment. To taste Al’s lips (which would probably taste like cigarettes). He wanted Alastor to bite his lips, to make them bleed, to make it hurt, to make Vox dizzy and overwhelmed with sensations.
And in the next moment, Alastor was kissing Vox — really kissing him — and everything was right in that moment.