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Husk should have known the first time was setting a standard. He would have said no; that would have been the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, his stupid heart was a touch softer than it should have been for the box-headed idiot. It’s stupid; he’s an Overlord, he should know better.
But here he was with his pants unbuttoned again. Vox’s blue claws toying with the straps of his suspenders, trying to shimmy them off his shoulders so he can reach around and grab his ass.
“Whoa, wait a second there, sparky.”
“Husky,” Vox slurs as he wriggles his way closer, resting the side of his casing on Husk’s shoulder. His shirt is untucked, his buttons done up wrong. The worst part is Husk can’t even take responsibility for that. No, the fucker had come in like that.
Husk growls. “What did you take?”
“Na-nothing,” Vox hiccups and then bursts into staticky giggles as his face disappears for a moment. “Just bottles of whiskey…” Vox holds up his right hand, looking at his claws intensely, then wiggles his fingers, holding his whole hand up, “This many! Oh, and this nice spider gave me some pills. Feels all floaty now… want you.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ Vox!” Husk hisses. Vox is a menace sober, but Vox in an inebriated state was a localized disaster and now he was in the middle of Husk’s Casino. The last time he’d stumbled in like this, someone had slipped him a roofie; Husk still wasn’t sure if that was to actually fuck him or to just make it easier to kill him. Either way, they’d failed, and Vox had wandered like today, except he was covered in blood and practically jumped Husk’s bones. The only reason they hadn’t had sex that night is because Alastor was there and Husk managed to pass Vox off before he managed to wriggle out of his underwear, the slipper motherfucker.
“We’re not having sex right now,”Husk sighs and tries to settle Vox onto a bench in between the blaring slot machines. Vox whines at him.
“Don’t you want me?”
Husk manages to free himself from Vox’s wandering hands and pins the television’s wrists down by their groins. He scrubs a paw down his face. Why does this shit always happen to him?
“Let me call Alastor. He can take you home.”
That stops Vox, who reels back like Husk had slapped him and then bursts out crying. “Alastor doesn’t want me anymore.”
Jesus. Husk is at a loss. There’s not enough souls in all of Hell to make this worth it. Fat tears roll down Vox’s screen and fizzle with electricity as they drop off his screen and onto his shirt. Husk glances around. They’re drawing eyes, but Vox is sparking so badly his fur is poofed up just from sitting beside him. There’s no way Husk is going to be able to touch him, let alone get him somewhere more private and keep his dignity. Husk sighs again.
He’s sure he’s going to regret this. “What happened?”
“I--we-- he said we’re not friends!” Vox manages to get out through the static and the tears and now he’s sobbing harder, throwing his head solidly against Husk’s chest. Husk hisses as the back of his head clips his chin, making his teeth clack together. “You still like me, right, Husk?” Vox’s lip wobbles. “We’re friends, right? You want me?”
Fuck Alastor, that emotionally repressed asshole. What the fuck were those two talking about that this even came up? What is he supposed to say to that? He’s pretty sure if he says no. Vox is one step away from blowing the electrical grid, and he just replaced his slot machines.
“Hey, yeah, we’re friends. Here, let’s get you up and get you a glass of water.” Vox is sparks jump, leaving little burns on his jacket and the waterworks are soaking his suit, but he manages to manhandle Vox to his feet. The elevators to his penthouse feel like they’re a marathon away.
Vox clutches him tightly as they move, muttering to himself, “Knew he was-- liar--fucker.” Husk is praying to his gods of luck that whatever shit Vox and Alastor had going between them wasn’t going to drag him in. The last thing he needed was to get into a fight with Alastor.
Vox is deadweight in Husk’s arms as he carts him towards the nearest elevator. Husk curses under his breath as Vox’s lanky ass legs nearly trip him for the third time. Husk shoves a sinner out of the way as he hits the shiny gold button for up.
The fox sinner shoots him a dirty look, but Husk fixes him with a glare that has them running off with their tail between their legs. Vox’s feet are on the floor now, but Husk doesn’t dare take his arm from around the television’s waist.
“Husky,” Vox whines, leaning closer. “Touch me.”
“Yeah, I’m not--” his protests are cut off as flat glass meets his mouth. Husk’s eyes widen as a tongue sloppily probes his lips. Vox is kissing him or at least trying to.
Husk leans back out of range. Mid-crisis really doesn’t feel like the right time to start something, especially without knowing the full story of whatever shit happened between Vox and Alastor.
“Let’s just--” Husk reasons. Grey and white static flickers across Vox’s screen and his mouth gets impossibly small before Vox bends over and vomits all over Husk’s dress shoes.
Husk stands there aghast as every patron in his Casino stares at him. He swishes his tail angrily.
“Vox,” he hisses out, jostling the television. He could strangle the idiot! That’s when he notices Vox's screen was black.
Great.
The horny fucker puked on his shoes and passed out. Husk is too old for this shit. He adds this to his list of things he blames Alastor for. The elevator doors ping open, and Husk is greeted by the sight of Carmilla Carmine and Zestial. It was rare for either of the older overlords to visit, but Carmine was a downright card shark when she did.
She blinks at him, her red eyes flicking to Vox, limp at his shoulder, to the puddle of acidic-smelling vomit he was standing in. Husk nubbly shuffles out of the way. She raises her nose, carefully stepping around the mess as she heads to the VIP lounge. Zestial gives him an appraising glance, but then follows Carmine.
Husk groans, could this night get any worse? He’d need to go take care of Vox, probably add those insulating handcuffs, so if the idiot had any more freakouts tonight at least he wouldn’t be able to teleport to Satan knows where or blow the grid. Meanwhile, Carmine would be down there swindling souls and Husk wasn’t even going to get a high-stakes poker game out of it. Sure, she might like to act like she was above it, but Carmilla Carmine knew how to get her hands dirty when she wanted to. You didn’t become an overlord without knowing that.
Husk slides into the elevator, pressing the button for his penthouse suite. Thankful when the doors close with a click and the watching eyes disappear. This was not how he expected his night to go.
“You owe me for this, you little fucker,” Husk grumbles as he readjusts Vox, picking him off the floor and slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “You’re buying me new shoes when you wake up and if you think that you can blame that kiss on being drunk, well you'd better at least pony up for an expensive date because I’m not letting you forget that either,” Vox predictably doesn’t rouse from his unconscious stupor. “You’re lucky I like you, you little fucker.”