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“Good evening, dear listeners! You’re listening to K-L-L-R 66.6 FM for your News–” Alastor began, his usual grin on his face as he went through the motions of his usual opening. That is until he was so rudely cut off by Vox zipping through Alastor’s phone line, two coffees in hand, unintentionally speaking over him.
“Al, I couldn’t find the blend you wanted, so–” Vox said while setting Alastor’s mug beside him, faltering when he noticed the ‘On Air’ sign hanging above Alastor’s desk was lit, the Radio demon’s smile strained. Vox stood upright again, straightening into his public persona.
“Oh,” he mumbled, before clearing his throat. He gave the cameras, all set up on Vox’s half of the desk, a charming smile. “We’re live already, Al? And here I thought my phone was buzzing because Val called me.”
“Yes, well,” Alastor grumbled, glowering as he watched Vox zip into his seat, kicking his feet up. He forced his anger down and continued with his typical, overly-sweet tone, “You interrupted me while I was giving our listeners my opening speech! That kind of etiquette wouldn’t last you a day in the radio biz, you know?”
Vox barked a laugh and slammed one clawed fist into the desk, nearly spilling coffee down his front in doing so. He sucked in a staticky breath, pretending to wipe a tear from his screen.
“Ah, like I care about something as old as radio!” he laughed through his words, shaking his head. He lifted his mug to his screen and drank a large mouthful of his steaming coffee, giving Alastor enough time to scoff, clearly offended.
“Need I remind you, Vox, what you said about radio before this new-age craze?” Alastor sneered, radio distortion undercutting his words. Sparks danced up the sides of Vox’s flatscreen head, lowering his mug slowly and glaring at Alastor all the while. In return, the Radio demon only smiled wider. “I’m sure our listeners would be delighted to know what tune you used to sing, my dear co-host in crime!”
“Al, I swear–” Vox growled, baring his sharp teeth at Alastor like some form of deranged animal, but Alastor only laughed condescendingly at the TV demon’s poor, unfinished threat.
“What?” Alastor mockingly cooed, tilting his head at Vox as if he wasn’t intentionally provoking him. “Afraid to be transparent? And here I thought you liked the news!”
Vox was getting more worked up. Alastor half expected Vox to attempt physically fighting him, deal be damned, and was pleasantly surprised when Vox pushed himself back in his chair, closed his eyes, and took one deep, calming breath.
“...Al!” he said brightly, opening his eyes and focusing the full intensity of his charming smile on Alastor now, “So, I made some comments about radio in poor taste. My bad, mhm? How about we settle this later–don’t you have a forecast to read?”
His attitude is patronising, and although Alastor feels his hackles raise at the notion of being looked down upon, he does have a forecast to read. He and Vox’s spat can wait until after the broadcast.
“Hrm. Very well!” he acquiesces, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. “Dear listeners, you can expect a breezy temperature of one hundred and twenty and a weak breeze off the Styx making it feel like a weak hundred-fifteen. Precipitation is at thirty-one percent across most of the city, including a heavy blood rain over on Cannibal Town’s side of the Pentagram. Now, for the traffic!”
A brief silence. Vox hides a snicker and says, “Well, Al? The traffic is…?”
Alastor blinks once, his hands clasped together in front of him like he had grave news to impart despite being constantly smiling.
“Bad.”
One word and that’s it, as always when it comes to Alastor and the traffic. Vox wonders if it has anything to do with Alastor being a deer. Regardless, he sets his mug down on the desk and brings his microphone a little closer, laughing brightly.
“Thank you, Al, for that delightful update. Now, onto Hell’s latest news!” Vox exclaims, eagerly getting right to it. He picks up his papers and taps them on the desk to straighten them out before beginning to read the news aloud.
“Doll demon and media Overlord Velvette, alongside co-partner and fellow Overlord Valentino, released her newest Love tonic to the masses! I’ve heard it packs quite the punch. In other news, East Pentagram is hosting an all-you-can-eat this weekend for all Sinners!” he announced while Alastor had taken the moment to have his own coffee–thankfully it hadn’t gone cold while he was distracted earlier.
Alastor watched Vox prattle on, trying and failing not to let his smile become softer.
“You really do love reporting the news, don’t you?” he teased once there was a pause long enough for him to intercept. He put his cup down, propping his chin on his palm, and yet his smile refused to sharpen. Vox faltered, a sharp zap of electricity dancing along the edge of his screen, yet made a speedy recovery–Alastor’s soft expressions were rare, usually reserved for when the Radio demon was too drunk to think straight, and Vox would rather die again than share it with the rest of Hell–or worse, lose it entirely.
“The news is important. It’s how everyone stays up-to-date!” Vox insisted, to which Alastor giggled and replied, “The forecast is important too, you know. And the traffic.”
Vox rolled his eyes with a groan, trying not to smile at how the familiar banter wormed under his metal skin and warmed what was left of his soul.
“All you ever say about the traffic, Al, is that it’s bad!” he insisted. Alastor hummed as if contemplating his words, nodding, before he tipped his head a full ninety degrees and said, “Exactly! Important!”
The TV demon gave up with a groan, removing his feet from the desk at last to comfortably slump forward onto the desk and rest his flatscreen on his arms, which he’d folded beneath him. Alastor only laughed, but thankfully chose to move on rather than draw more torment from Vox.
“Now, listeners, you’ll be delighted to note that Vox and I will be hosting one extra-long broadcast today! If you somehow don’t know why, I’ll tell you: next week is Sinsmas! In the spirit of the season, I’m unfortunately obligated to spend more time around Vox than I already have to, what joy!” Alastor declared this brightly, his smile finally sharpening back into its usual state. “Stay tuned, dears! Vox and I will be right back to begin our festive broadcast.”
One clawed fingertip pressed the button that sent the broadcast to a break. He sighed and slumped back in his chair, his joints popping from the strain of having to hold himself up in an upright position for so long. His head rested on the back of his chair, his long arms limp at his side and his legs naturally falling open in—what Alastor heard the newer gens in the Hotel call—a manspread. Vox, on the other hand, had perked right up and downed the rest of his coffee in two large gulps. The sound was gross, which Alastor made sure to express.
“Disgusting,” Alastor sneered, and Vox barked a laugh but chose not to refute him. The Radio demon’s shadow had retrieved Alastor’s cup, nudging it into his hands. He gave in and drank the rest of his quickly-cooling coffee before sitting upright once more, running a hand through his hair. Vox eyed him as he did so, having been trying to clean up his half of the desk.
“What?” Alastor asked. Vox shook his head and turned back to what he was doing, but Alastor shuffled closer to the desk—Vox wasn’t getting out of answering this, that was for sure.
“What is it? Come now, Vox, don’t leave me in suspense.”
Vox shrugged, casually asking, “Why don’t you fix your hair? It wouldn’t be too hard for Vel to do; she styles her own hair every which way, every day. I could ask if she’d be willing to style yours.”
“Charming, but no. I like my hair!” Alastor insisted almost petulantly, to which Vox rolled his eyes and waved him off.
“Yeah, sure, Al.”
There was a silence then, not uncomfortable but not comfortable either. It was a silence that seemed to hold the weight of their shared past and their long history, a constant reminder that they’d both come a long way from bar haunts and sharing an apartment. Thinking of it that way, it made Alastor feel as if he was somehow reciting wedding vows. The feeling it gave him–invasive, disgusting–was so overwhelming nauseating that he abruptly stood, nearly knocking over his chair.
Vox turned to look at him, naive confusion on his face.
“Al?” he asked, and even just looking at his flatscreen face made Alastor feel soft. It was a horrifying revelation that he’d come to. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Vox any longer–at least, not right now.
“What’s–?”
“Just going out for coffee, my dear Vincent! Don’t miss me too much!” Alastor cut him off loudly, snatching up his mug and vanishing into the shadows. Vox watched him go, a brief flicker of hurt crossing his expression–not that Alastor saw, too busy trying to suppress his feelings.
Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time that homosexual thoughts regarding Vox had arisen. Alastor was no stranger to yearning for the TV demon, but he’d truly believed he’d gotten over Vox in the seventy years since their split. Now, standing in the Hotel’s kitchen and hunched over the counter, panting like he’d run a marathon, Alastor was once again forced to confront his worst enemy: himself.
This was Hell, however, and Alastor’s divine punishment wasn’t just confronting his own internal homophobia. No, on top of his stubbornly rising feelings, he had to deal with other people too. What joys.
“Alastor?” Charlie called from just beyond the kitchen doorway. Panicked in a way he usually never is, Alastor straightened up and fixed his clothes to the best of his abilities; he may be struggling, but he’d rather die again than confide his weaknesses to anyone.
He doesn’t turn around, fixing his cup with two hefty spoons of Death coffee–a brand of coffee that is so strong the drinker will not sleep for at least three days, and any well-respected Overlord’s favourite liquid to abuse–and flicking the kettle on to boil.
“Charlie!” He says brightly once he feels the Princess step into the kitchen, spinning around to face her with his typical smile. “How lovely to see you this fine morning.”
Admittedly, she looks rather shifty, wringing her hands and avoiding eye contact–something she only ever did when she was nervous about something. He supposed that was why he’d heard whispering from the lounge.
“Uh, yeah! I just, um..” she began. While his shadow handled his coffee, he folded his arms behind his back and tilted his head at her–a perfect ninety degree angle.
“Is this about my little picture-box?” he questioned. When Charlie floundered, stumbling over her words and thus confirming his suspicions, Alastor laughed brightly.
“Oh-ho! Tell me, Charlie, what is it this time?” he questioned her. She took a deep breath, then expelled it, likely steeling her resolve.
“Well, Alastor, it’s just.. Everyone in the Hotel is on edge with Vox around.” She said. Alastor blinked at her without comment, which made her groan, facepalming.
“Okay,” she began, clearly going to rephrase her words–oh, and rephrase she did. “Al, Vox has been coming to the Hotel a lot lately, and you guys are.. Loud. And I wouldn’t mind, but it’s Vox.”
Alastor gets the distinct feeling that Charlie means something else.
Five minutes later, Vox is finished organising all he could possibly organise. Bored, he flicks the switch and takes the vodcast off of its break.
“Welcome back! Sorry for our extended break, dear viewers! Alastor isn’t back yet, but—” he began, only to nearly fall off his chair and onto his ass when Alastor slammed the door of the radio tower open, looking fierce.
“Ah, Al!” he greeted the Radio demon, smiling smugly. He, of course, knew what Alastor had ‘discovered’ whilst downstairs–he hadn’t denied it when Husk, the bartender, asked if he was sleeping with Alastor, after all. He hadn’t confirmed it either, but it seemed the Princess’ company liked to take things out of proportion. “What happened? You look sour.”
There was heavy radio distortion from Alastor as he stalked into the room, his smile stitched wide–the deal kept him from growing any bigger or hurting Vox and they both knew it; it was why Vox hadn’t left the radio tower when Alastor took an extended period of time to return.
“They think we’re fucking, Vox!” Alastor sneered, his clawed hands twitching for something to tear apart. He settled for yanking his own hair. The TV demon only cackled, spinning in his chair, one hand pressed to his flatscreen head as if it would fall off if he laughed any harder. Alastor seethed as he sat down.
“Let’s just–” he gritted out, reaching for the button that would take the vodcast off its break, only to notice that they were already on air again. The distortion got worse as Alastor keeled over, both hands yanking his hair. This was the worst he’d visually lost control in quite some time. All Vox could do was laugh, cackling so hard that he collapsed to the floor.
He could’ve put the show on a break again until they were both sane again, but Alastor instead took deep breaths and sat up, his shadow naturally moving to fix his hair.
“Sorry for that, dear listeners!” Alastor apologised. “However, what a start to the Sinsmas special! Truly a broadcast to remember.”
Vox took gasping breaths as he shakily got up, wiping tears from his screen. Electricity danced up and around his head, his face glitching and distorting still. Alastor had to clench his hands on the table to stop himself from trying to swipe at Vox, deal be damned.
“Yes, laugh it up, Vox. Let our listeners hear how immature you are.” Alastor bit out, sneering, but Vox only snorted and leaned back in his seat, once again kicking his feet up on the desk as if he owned this radio tower and Alastor was his co-host. His behaviour only further angered Alastor, but he was nothing if not patient; he could get his revenge at some point.
Thankfully, Vox soon let go of his amusement and the broadcast moved on. Quite honestly, Alastor didn’t expect to end up having much fun with this broadcast, but it turned into quite the doozy–that was, of course, after he and Vox were so drunk they could hardly stand, at which point they had to drunkenly bid their farewells to the avid vodcast listeners—though not before Vox shamelessly plugged his newest product and wished every sinner a happy Sinsmas.
“I didn’t know you were still so sentimental, Vinny..” Alastor slurred as he drunkenly stumbled to his feet. Vox slung Alastor’s left arm over his neck, his right hand steadying the Radio demon’s hip. Alastor was leaning most of his weight into Vox’s side as the pair stumbled out of the radio tower.
“Wishing sinners a merry sinsmas? That’s very– very naive of you,” Alastor continued, unprompted, followed by a giggle that was undercut with a laugh track. He raised his right hand to Vox’s face, extending his pointer finger. Vox faltered, giving Alastor enough time to ‘boop’ his screen. In response, the TV demon nodded down at Alastor’s legs, which were shaking up a storm.
“You’re quakin’ like a baby doe, Al. C’mon, let me get y’to bed.” Vox laughed, tugging Alastor along the hall. He could easily tell which room was Alastor’s due to the decoration of the door and thankfully managed to get the other demon into his room without fuss.
Vox helped remove some basic outer layers from Alastor’s outfit, letting the Radio demon’s shadow handle the rest while he was turned away.
“I’ll be goin’ now, ‘kay?” Vox slurred, but was yanked back and spun around by Alastor’s shadow, which clung to him and hung off him the same way Alastor had only a few moments prior. The only difference was that his shadow had more strength than Alastor had. Speaking of the demon, he was now dressed for bed, but he, too, was intent not to let Vox leave.
“Vinny, dearest, what’s the harm in you staying the night?” Alastor slurred, wrapping his arms around Vox’s neck and slumping into his chest, his ears drooped in exhaustion. The TV demon blushed and allowed Alastor to pull him toward the bed. It was so reminiscent of times long passed that Vox nearly had to ask what year it was, but was more distracted by Alastor’s shadow trying to undress him. This, of course, was with pure intentions, yet that didn’t stop Vox’s mind briefly flashing to places less pure.
(If Alastor was ever interested… but Vox refused to get his hopes up.)
“Y’sure, Al? I don’t want to make your relations with the Princess tight–” he began, but Alastor only laughed, falling backwards. He’d have collapsed if Vox hadn’t swept his hand under him and cupped the small of Alastor’s back, supporting the other inebriated demon and helping him stand again.
“Ah, it’s Sinsmas, Vinny, baby! Aren’t you all for that mushy nonsense?” he said, lightly shoving Vox’s hip with his hoofed foot. Vox caught his leg with a laugh and crawled over Alastor, bracing one arm over the Radio demon’s head and practically boxing the other man in.
“You aren’t worried I’ll try to end you in your sleep?” he joked. Alastor only hummed and tilted his head, knowing full well that Vox couldn’t turn down the opportunity to indulge in a domesticity they hadn’t shared in over seventy years. What struck Vox silent, however, was how Alastor looked right now.
Admittedly, the bob was awful, but one wouldn’t think so with how the red and black strands were spread out underneath Alastor right now, creating a sinful halo that framed his half-lidded eyes, his smile softened enough that made him look genuinely sweet. Vox had never considered himself the religious sort, but at this moment, Alastor looked divine enough to worship. Vox could certainly understand why groups of people gave themself to religion willingly.
“You’d deny me?” Alastor teased quietly. Transfixed, almost possessed, Vox shook his head and crawled off of Alastor, undressing. Seeing as he had no extra clothes–he certainly hadn’t planned spending the night, after all–he chose to sleep in only his boxers. In the gloom of Alastor’s darkened room, the gills along his chest as well as the tips of his fingers glowed a bioluminescent shade of blue.
“Never,” Vox whispered. His delayed reaction brought a chuckle from Alastor, who by now had crawled under the covers, curled up like a fawn. Vox smiled and stumbled into bed beside him. It was endearing when the oh-so fearsome Radio demon instantly reached out and yanked Vox closer so that he could latch onto him, stubborn as a barnacle, and sleep on his chest. Carefully, Vox let his arms wrap around Alastor’s back, resting there without holding him down.
Vox let his screen dim, relaxing into Alastor’s bed with a fond smile.
“Goodnight, Vinny,” Alastor slurred, staying as dead upon Vox’s weight as he always does when this drunk. Vox nuzzled his screen against the top of Alastor’s head before laying back.
“Night, Al. Happy Sinsmas.”
It took no time at all for the pair to fall asleep, and on this night, even the shadow was still.