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“If I don’t, you’ll peek,” had been Alastor’s justification when he transformed, plucked Vox up by the scruff, and popped him into his open mouth like a grape.
Vox, for his part, didn’t try to escape when he looked down at Alastor’s gaping kaiju maw, the rush of hot breath condensing on his screen as Alastor’s claws parted to drop him in. An instinctual part of him tugged at his circuits, warning signals that bid him to swim against the current of Alastor’s slick, rolling tongue, but Vox ignored them, letting the moist warmth envelop his body.
From then on, it was darkness. Darkness and heat and squish.
Because Alastor could control electrical signals, keeping Vox in his mouth like a sort of organic Faraday cage served well to block Vox’s access to his vast network of security cameras and broadcast frequencies. When Alastor said “No peeking!” he meant it, and whatever sort of surprise he had in store must’ve really been something special.
Vox could hardly wait.
In the meantime, he accepted the jostling of Alastor’s movements as he made his way to wherever it was the surprise had been hidden. Alastor’s deer tongue was welcomingly supple and soft, almost like a slimy bed of sorts for him to rest against while he waited.
Unfortunately, being trapped in hot, humid darkness with only his screen for light got boring really quick. So, Vox found himself studying the backs of Alastor’s sharp teeth, his gums, the ridges of his hard palate, his quivering soft palate, the soft tissue of his inner cheeks, and the dangling uvula that swayed slightly with the rhythm of Alastor’s gait. Beyond that, the back of Alastor’s throat was relatively smooth.
And all of it looked so temptingly touchable.
Draped across Alastor’s tongue, Vox reached out to press his palm against a bottom incisor, wrapping his fingers around the tip of it and rubbing the pad of his thumb over the point at the top. It wasn’t nearly as sharp as it looked, but its sheer size combined with the force of Alastor’s bite could saw Vox’s body in half. (Ask him how he knew.)
Since Alastor didn’t react to having his teeth touched, Vox felt a little bolder exploring the inside of his partner’s mouth with more than just his own tongue for once. He slid his hand down to the firm tissue at the base of Alastor’s incisor and ran his finger along the gumline, claw grazing the hair-fine crease where gum met tooth.
Still no reaction.
Then again, Vox had yet to see Alastor gag while swallowing other demons whole, so…
Vox didn’t have to reach very high to touch Alastor’s hard palate, pressing his hand flat and rubbing his palm curiously back and forth to feel the ridges. It was slick up there but not as wet and slimy as the rest of his mouth. In fact, it had started to feel a little like the base of Alastor’s tongue was flooding, excess saliva pooling around Vox higher and higher the longer his buccal escort continued. When he swept his palm back to the edge of Alastor’s palate where soft and hard met in a line of squishy dimples, a surge of saliva rushed up to coat Vox entirely, and if he’d needed to breathe the same way most sinners did, he might’ve been worried about suffocating.
Instead, he continued his curious exploration, skimming his claws lightly across Alastor’s soft palate, and the dense flesh undulated in response. That was the only indication Vox got before the massive tongue he’d been laying on suddenly crushed him flat against the roof of Alastor’s mouth, and everything rippled around him as the excess saliva vacated all the gaps and crevices to pour down the back of Alastor’s contracting throat.
Vox, what are you doing?
It wasn’t a verbalized question, but Vox felt it buzz directly into his motherboard as the balls of his antennae lit up to receive it.
From his pinned position, it was hard to concentrate, but Vox did the best that he could to focus his energy on beaming out a signal.
Hanging out in your mouth where you put me.
Alastor’s tongue relaxed to release him, and then another signal surged through his receptors.
Try to hold still, would you?
Vox did no such thing.
Not for lack of trying, but it was starting to get really hot in there, and the swampy humidity made it almost impossible for his vents to cool him off. He waited for as long as he could, really, suppressing all the errors that kept flagging in his system. How much further away could this surprise even be?
But when he felt a sudden wave of nausea with his vision snowing over and the edges of his field of view glitching, it surely wouldn’t be much longer before he actually passed out from heat exhaustion. (Again, ask him how he knew.)
With another overheating error popping up, this time warning him that he had only seconds until a forced system shutdown, he knew he needed to do something. Centralizing enough of his power to send out another signal would’ve pushed him over the edge, so he did the only other thing he could think of and reached out to give Alastor’s uvula a good hard yank.
Technically, it worked.
With a sudden jolt, Alastor’s jaw slacked open, the hacking whoosh of air from his lungs flinging Vox from his slobbery prison into Alastor’s open hand. As the next few coughs and heaves continued, a gloopy string of saliva trailed over Vox’s limp, overheating body and sluiced through the massive fingers cradling him.
While Alastor struggled to catch his breath, another signal slapped Vox across the motherboard.
What the Hell was that?!
Panting as the sudden rush of cool air seeped through all the slickness coating him, Vox lay in relief that his overheating errors were finally being resolved.
“Too hot,” he mumbled using his voice.
Then, Alastor pulled a blanket-sized handkerchief from his pocket and draped it over Vox, dabbing over his wettest parts.
My apologies, sweetheart, he signaled as he did so.
After Alastor lovingly wiped off most of the spit, he gently laid Vox down on the front porch of his bayou cabin and shrunk back down to normal size. Once Vox was steady on his feet, Alastor ushered him inside to finish cleaning up in preparation for his surprise, which for some reason involved dressing him up nice.
Stripping off Vox’s spit-soaked clothes with snap, Alastor just as quickly replaced them with a fancy tux in Vox’s trademark blue with festive red and gold accents. Alastor also gave himself new duds to match, and once he’d fitted Vox with a new hat, he looped his arm in Vox’s.
“And now the surprise, my dear!”
As Alastor gave him that warm, loving smile he’d grown so fond of decades ago, Vox couldn’t help the glowing flush on his screen.
In the next room of Alastor’s cozy home, a simple table and chairs had been set up with two silver cloches and a fully lit candelabra in between. The crackling fireplace provided just enough light to set the mood, though Vox’s furiously glowing screen threatened to outshine it.
“Al, what is this about?” Vox asked nervously. “I mean, I know it’s Sinsmas, but…”
“Sit, Picture Box.” Alastor even pulled out a chair for him. “It’s just a little something I whipped up for us.”
Without bothering to seat himself and before Vox could lift his own cloche, Alastor did it for him, the silver ringing lightly as it lifted from the platter. Underneath, instead of the food he’d been expecting, was only a simple business card with a blue and red logo to the left and the words AV Tech to the right.
Vox’s heart stuttered at the sight.
All the fighting, all the heartache, all the crying and misunderstandings. After seventy years, Alastor was finally ready to try.
As the tears began to well, Vox's vision fizzled lightly with static. “You really mean it?” he asked incredulously.
Alastor planted a tender kiss to the corner of his screen and flicked the ball of his crooked antenna. “Yes, really.” Then, he snapped to replace the mockup business card with a plate of his infamous jambalaya. “Now, let’s eat.”
Vox wasn’t sure how he was meant to eat it while being a blubbering mess, but it was still the best meal he’d ever had.