Chapter Text
Vox had felt a strange ache in his chest ever since he landed in hell.
Like his heart was gone and the space left behind was a void drinking in everything he had, like a fundamental part of his existence had vanished and now he couldn't even be without it, like he had lost the most important piece of his life and didn't even know what it was or that he had it.
It left a bitter taste in his mouth after everything he did, struck down deals, took lost souls, built empires, conquered the hierarchy, manipulated, made connections, made that kind of connections, adopted little sharks, drank himself stupid, laughed, cried, breathed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, it made everything he did feel utterly wrong and hollow.
The static in his head was barely ignorable on good days, it drove him half-crazy on bad ones.
That was until he met him.
The radio demon, the boogeyman parents were scaring their kids into bed with. He was terrifying, sadistic, untouchable, and utterly divine in Vox’s eyes. A sinner who showed up out of nowhere in the thirties and became one of the most powerful overlords overnight. He had an almost disgusting sense of humor, wasn’t after fame or money or sex dolls like everybody else. It was almost like he did it all for the sake of entertainment.
The radio broadcasted poor unfortunate souls’ screams at night and by morning the radio demon would be jabbing at and mocking his latest hunts on his show. It came out so naturally that you would think he was talking about the dinner he had the other night and not about tearing human souls from limb to limb and showing them literal hell.
People realized very soon the radio demon was not to be crossed, only to be feared and respected. And then there came Vox.
Vincent Whittman had been nothing if not obsessive all through his life and after-life, the very reason he almost managed to reach godhood on earth, but obsession finally took the best of him and became his end, literally.
He promised himself that he wouldn’t let it get there again, but that’s what every addict says, isn’t it?
The first time he saw Alastor was the first time the constant buzz in his head shut up since he placed foot in hell. It became something almost pleasant and warm. He couldn’t help but stare at the sinner before him making conversation with the overlord, Rosie, giving Vox occasional side glances, a hint of amusement glinting at his eyes and his ever present hunting smile taking a smug turn.
Vox had never felt so close to having everything, he couldn't explain it, almost as if he was a puzzle which finally found its last piece after decades of being incomplete. The attraction and pull he felt towards the other man was magnetic, a gigantic magnet which swallowed earth and sun and the solar system whole.
He thought to himself that he wanted this man in every way possible. Not only in the obvious aspect of wanting to jump his bones, which he did badly, but the urge to kidnap and imprison the guy for all millenia and owning him and being owned by him, look at him until his eyes burned, worship him day and night and cater to his every desire no matter how impossible or dark, sacrifice everything for him and thank him afterwards, love him and keep him and spoil him until there was nothing left of him except for Alastor, his Alastor.
Vox realized he never had wanted, needed, something like this. He would do and give anything just for this man to be Vox’s, and that creeped even himself out.
He had been staring having an existential crisis over a red deer with a creepy-ass smile for so long that he didn’t realize the whole room had gone silent, supposedly waiting for a response from the glitching TV headed man until Carmilla Carmine cleared her throat awkwardly and made Vox face her direction, finding everyone waiting impatiently and a tad bit amused. He panicked for a second but forced his ever present charm back on and continued with regained composure and confidence of a man who has been king of the airways for more than half of his life.
The meeting continued semi-smoothly afterwards, with Vox stealing glances from the radio demon and finally finding him staring back and blushing a light shade of cyan. He tried to silence his thoughts which were screaming ALASTOR in full caps every minute and focus on the current matter at hand, something about a new gang stealing off potential souls in the overlords’ territories, and try to tune out the content relieved buzz in his head.
When the meeting is finally over he looks over to find Alastor and sees Rosie looking directly at him. There’s a certain look on her face, calculating, almost accusatory. She quickly turns her furrowed brows into a pleasant expression and sweet smile which promises great malice behind it and turns away.
Vox finds it weird of course, but tucks it in the back of his mind to overlook later, instead turns his attention to conversing with Husk and Maestro. As he steps out of Carmine’s establishment he sees Alastor standing on the sidewalk, like he’s observing something very mind bugging in the red sky of Pentagram. He turns around as he hears Vox’s footsteps, his smile taking a sharper line as he sees the television demon.
“Vox, is it not? Pleased to finally meet you my good man, I’ve heard a lot about your recent… projects.”
Alastor says, tightening his eyes thinking about all the new TVs and screens around hell recently.
Vox’s wires twist together for a second, that staticy radio voice making him feel stuff. He quickly gathers himself and extends his hand charmingly.
“Very happy to finally meet the radio demon. Your broadcasts are definitely very entertaining, that’s hard to find in this hole. I’m Vox.”
Alastor looks at the extended hand indifferently and chuckles lightly.
“That I can agree with. Is that the reason you have been filling this place up with your little picture boxes?”
Alastor asks, condescension showing through his smile.
Vox takes his hand back, grins despite the obvious hurtful jabs and crosses his arms.
“Your broadcasts are entertaining, yes. But sometimes people aren’t in the mood for painful screams and getting mocked by their host. Also, radio is a bit outdated, don’t you think? You gotta look out for the future if you wanna stay relevant.”
Alastor raises his brows, not expecting the response, strangers tend to run off the moment they saw him, even overlords didn’t feel comfortable indulging him, he briefly thought about tearing this loud, bold, flashy little soul and broadcasting his screams for tonight’s show. He thought a bit longer about devouring him on the spot, how his heart would taste. Electric, perhaps. Or maybe metallic.
He quickly decided that the picture box would provide more entertainment alive, or you know, dead, and with his bright screen still attached to his body.
“Never dear, relevance is not something I chase after. It is only the fear and amusement that I care about, and until I vanish off the face of hell radio will never be outdated.”
Alastor is interested now, the odd man seemed… appealing. Somehow. Vox saw it and seized the moment.
“Would you care for a drink? I’ll buy.”
He says with a too eager voice.
Alastor considers him for a moment, he could just dissolve into the shadows and not have to deal with this seemingly headache of a man, or laugh in his face for thinking he was worthy of the radio demon’s time. But he decided to indulge back, didn’t look like it would hurt.
He was wrong of course.
“Lead the way then, Mr. Vox.”