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Summary
What if Vox and Alastor actually tried to be healthy? In other news the sky is red.
Oh wait. It is red in Hell probably.
Radiostatic Whoring Out FR (NOT CLICKBAIT)
"Alastor raked his sharp claws down Vox’s chest, no doubt leaving marks. But Vox didn’t notice, or even care. He was too busy feeling Alastor’s tongue down his throat. Alastor had always had a strange fascination with Vox’s screen, and the feeling that surrounded him when he submerged part of himself in the staticky void of Vox’s mouth was unlike any other."