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Alastor was practically dragged Vox down the cobblestone streets of Pentagram City's shopping district. The Radio Demon's grin was impossibly wide, his red eyes gleaming with an excitement that made Vox both nervous and intrigued.
"Al, where exactly are we going?" Vox asked, his screen flickering with curiosity as he tried to keep pace with the taller demon's enthusiastic stride.
"Patience, my dear!" Alastor sang out, his vintage microphone staff clicking against the pavement with each step. "I have a delightful surprise for you!"
Vox's screen displayed a skeptical display, but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his digital features. When Alastor got like this—genuinely excited about something rather than his usual performative enthusiasm—it was impossible not to be swept up in it.
They stopped in front of an elegant storefront that Vox had passed a hundred times but never entered. The sign read "Rosier's Fine Tailoring" in elegant script, and through the windows, Vox could see mannequins dressed in exquisitely crafted suits that probably cost more than most sinners' souls.
"Al, this place is—"
"Exactly what you deserve," Alastor interrupted smoothly, holding the door open with a flourish. "After you, darling."
The interior smelled of expensive fabric and cedar wood. A dapper demon with measuring tape draped around his neck looked up from his work and immediately brightened at the sight of Alastor.
"Mr. Alastor! What a pleasure! It's been too long since you've graced my establishment."
"Indeed, Maurice! But today I'm not here for myself." Alastor placed both hands on Vox's shoulders, steering him forward like a prize. "I'm here to ensure my dear friend here gets the wardrobe he truly deserves."
Vox's screen flushed with a soft blue glow. "Alastor, you don't have to—"
"Nonsense!" Alastor waved his hand dismissively. "I insist! You've been wearing the same style for quite a while, my dear. While I appreciate consistency, even I must admit that variety is the spice of afterlife!"
Maurice circled Vox with a professional eye, his measuring tape already in hand. "Hmm, yes, I see. A distinguished figure! We have so many options that would complement your build beautifully."
Vox shifted uncomfortably, his screen displaying static for a moment. He was acutely aware of his softer middle, the way his current grey vest pulled slightly. But Alastor's hand on his shoulder was warm and reassuring.
"Only the finest fabrics," Alastor instructed Maurice. "And I want to see everything. Every option, every style. We're not leaving until we find perfection."
What followed was a whirlwind of fabric swatches, measurements, and Maurice pulling outfit after outfit from the racks. Alastor had settled into a plush velvet chair near the fitting rooms, his chin resting on his hands atop his microphone staff, watching with rapt attention.
"Go on, darling," Alastor encouraged as Maurice handed Vox the first ensemble. "Let's see how it looks."
Vox disappeared into the fitting room, his screen cycling through various expressions of uncertainty. The first outfit was a deep navy three-piece suit with subtle pinstripes. When he emerged, tugging at the vest self-consciously, he was met with a sound he'd never quite heard from Alastor before—a soft, almost reverent sigh.
"Oh my," Alastor breathed, his eyes widening. His smile remained fixed, but there was something different in his expression, something hungry and appreciative. "Turn around. Slowly."
Vox obeyed, rotating in place, and he could feel Alastor's gaze tracking every inch of him. The suit fit perfectly, Maurice's expert tailoring accommodating his frame in a way that made him look distinguished rather than trying to hide anything.
"The way that vest hugs your middle," Alastor murmured, almost to himself. "Exquisite. But let's see more. Maurice, what else do you have?"
There was something in Alastor's tone—a barely contained eagerness—that made Vox's screen flicker with warmth. He'd never seen the Radio Demon quite so... focused.
The second outfit was a dark red suit with black accents. When Vox stepped out, Alastor actually stood up from his chair, circling him like a predator, though his intentions seemed far from threatening.
"Magnificent," Alastor purred, reaching out to adjust Vox's lapel with careful fingers. His touch lingered perhaps a moment too long. "The color brings out the glow of your screen. And the way the jacket sits on your shoulders..." He trailed off, his radio filter crackling slightly.
"You really think so?" Vox asked, his voice softer than usual.
"I know so." Alastor's eyes met his, intense and unwavering. "But don't stop now. There's more to try, isn't there, Maurice?"
"Oh yes, many more options!" Maurice said cheerfully, already pulling another ensemble.
Vox found himself back in the fitting room, and when he emerged in a charcoal grey suit with a deep purple shirt and matching pocket square, Alastor's reaction was even more pronounced. The Radio Demon had returned to his chair, but he was leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, completely transfixed.
"Good Lord," Alastor whispered, his static crackling. "Vox, you look absolutely..." He seemed to struggle for words, which was rare for the ever-eloquent Radio Demon. "Divine. Sinful. Perfect."
Vox's screen displayed a pleased blush. "It does feel nice."
"Nice?" Alastor laughed, the sound edged with something almost desperate. "My dear, you're a vision. Walk for me. Let me see how it moves."
Vox walked across the room, and he could feel Alastor's eyes burning into him with every step. When he turned back, Alastor was gripping his microphone staff tightly, his knuckles pale.
"Another," Alastor said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Please. I need to see more."
There was something intoxicating about the way Alastor was looking at him, the way the usually composed demon seemed to be coming undone with each new outfit. Vox had never felt so desired, so appreciated. Every insecurity about his softer figure melted away under Alastor's hungry gaze.
The next outfit was a forest green suit with a cream-colored vest. Alastor made a sound that was almost a whimper when Vox stepped out.
"The vest," Alastor said, standing and approaching. "May I?"
Vox nodded, and Alastor's hands came to rest on his waist, smoothing down the fabric of the vest. His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, fingers tracing the buttons down Vox's front.
"You're so handsome," Alastor murmured, and for once there was no performative quality to his voice. It was raw, honest. "Every curve, every line. You're perfect, Vox. Absolutely perfect."
Vox's screen was glowing bright blue now, his fans whirring audibly. "Al..."
"More," Alastor pleaded, stepping back reluctantly. "Please, darling. Just a few more. I can't get enough of seeing you like this."
Maurice, who had been tactfully pretending not to notice the charged atmosphere, brought out outfit after outfit. A black suit with red accents that made Alastor grip the arms of his chair so tightly the wood creaked. A tan summer suit that had him standing again, circling Vox with predatory grace, murmuring compliments in both English and French. A midnight blue ensemble that made Alastor actually reach out and touch Vox's face, his thumb brushing across the edge of his screen.
"You're glowing," Alastor said softly. "Literally and figuratively. You're the most captivating thing I've ever seen."
"You're just saying that," Vox protested weakly, but he couldn't deny the way his core was warming at the attention.
"I never just say anything," Alastor countered. "Every word is truth. You're stunning, Vox. In every single outfit, yes, but more than that—you're stunning as yourself. These clothes merely highlight what was already there."
Vox felt something crack open in his chest, something vulnerable and tender. "I... I never thought you saw me that way."
"Then I've been remiss," Alastor said, taking Vox's hands in his own. "Because I see you, darling. All of you. And I adore every pixel, every curve, every brilliant, infuriating, wonderful part of you."
Maurice cleared his throat gently. "Shall I wrap up all the outfits, then?"
"All of them," Alastor confirmed without taking his eyes off Vox. "Every single one he tried on. And add three more of your finest pieces. My treat."
"Alastor, that's too much—"
"It's not nearly enough," Alastor interrupted. "But it's a start. You deserve to feel this good, this confident, every single day. And if buying you an entire wardrobe is what it takes, then consider it done."
Vox's screen cycled through several emotions before settling on something soft and grateful. "Thank you. Really. This means... more than you know."
"Oh, I think I have some idea," Alastor said with a knowing smile. "After all, I got quite the show out of it. Watching you discover your own beauty? That was worth every penny and then some."
As Maurice rang up the astronomical total without Alastor even flinching, Vox realized something. Alastor hadn't just bought him clothes. He'd given him confidence, made him feel desired and appreciated in a way he'd never experienced before. The Radio Demon had looked at him like he was the only thing in all of Hell worth looking at.
"Same time next season?" Maurice asked cheerfully as he handed over several large garment bags.
"Absolutely," Alastor agreed. "Though I may need to come back sooner. I find myself quite addicted to the sight of Vox in fine tailoring."
Vox's screen displayed a flustered emoji, but he was smiling. "You're impossible."
"And you're irresistible," Alastor countered smoothly, offering his arm. "Now, shall we get these home? I'm already looking forward to seeing you in each and every one of them again. Perhaps you could model them for me privately? I feel I didn't get quite enough time to appreciate each one properly."
"You spent three hours staring at me," Vox pointed out, but he took Alastor's arm anyway.
"And I could spend three hundred more," Alastor said simply. "You're a masterpiece, my dear. And I intend to admire you as such."
As they walked out into Hell's streets, laden with bags and boxes, Vox felt lighter than he had in decades. Alastor's hand was warm on his arm, and the Radio Demon kept glancing over at him with that same hungry, appreciative look that made Vox's circuits sing.
"You know," Vox said quietly, "I could never say no to you."
"I know," Alastor replied, his smile softening into something genuine. "And I promise never to abuse that power. Well," he amended with a mischievous glint, "not in any way you won't thoroughly enjoy."
Vox laughed, the sound crackling through his speakers, and leaned into Alastor's side. For once, he felt truly seen, truly appreciated, truly beautiful. And it was all thanks to a Radio Demon with impeccable taste and an apparently insatiable appetite for watching Vox try on clothes.
"So, about that private fashion show," Alastor said as they turned toward home. "I was thinking perhaps this evening? I have several bottles of excellent wine, and I'd very much like to see that dark red suit again. And the navy one. And the charcoal grey. And—"
"All of them?" Vox interrupted, amused.
"All of them," Alastor confirmed without shame. "I'm a demon of simple pleasures, darling. And apparently, watching you model fine clothing has become my new favorite pastime."
Vox's screen glowed warm and bright. "Then who am I to deny you?"
"Exactly," Alastor purred, pulling Vox closer. "Who indeed?"
And as they disappeared into the crimson afternoon, Vox couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, being spoiled by Alastor wasn't such a bad thing after all. Especially when it came with looks like that, touches like those, and words that made him feel like the most precious thing in all of Hell.
He could definitely get used to this.