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Deep into a Saturday night, at the local bar in the Entertainment District, sat Vox, a up and coming overlord, and Alastor , the Radio Demon - one drunk off his ass, and the other mildly intoxicated.
Alastor generally keeps himself sober enough when going on these little outings with Vox, seeing as Vox tends to do very, very stupid things when drunk, and Alastor prefers his little wet dog of a pet to not go and run off into the street and die a second time. That would not be ideal. Alastor grimaces at the thought.
Vox is saying something, and Alastor realizes very quickly he was supposed to be paying attention this whole time. Drats. He didn't mean to zone out for that long. He so wonderfully pretends like he was paying attention this whole time, his smile remaining soft on his face as he watches Vox wave his arms around frantically.
Vox doubles over, clutching his stomach from how hard he’s laughing. This display is depressing, he thinks. How Vox became so, so comfortable in a public space is beyond him. Alastor’s ears press back a little bit against his head as- well, he thinks he’s talking about his past life or something, which is just oh so dangerous, seeing as there are so many sinners around, including himself, that can and will use that information against him.
Oh, well. His downfall will be funny. At least, that’s what Alastor tells himself.
“...and, n’ uh- oh, oh, get this- I was married to- to…hheheh.” Vox takes a quick break in his yammering (Alastor had zoned out at this point, seeing as most of Vox’s life doesn’t interest him too much - but the marriage comment caught his attention) to have a small laughing fit, before he perks back up. “Was married to- to- okay, so you said you were in the south of the USA, right?”
Alastor keeps his face steady, but he’s genuinely surprised that Vox remembers. He was shitfaced when Alastor told him that, and he suddenly feels a sharp sting of regret shoot through his skin. He should probably respond. “Yes, Vox. I was. Why is this relevant?”
Vox’s grin somehow spreads wider. “In New Orleans, there was that big string of murders going around?”
“Yes…?” That was him. He’s never said such, but he felt it was fairly obvious, no?
“Welllllll…” In an embarrassingly endearing fashion, Vox does funny little jazz hands. He’s so adorable, it’s kind of hard to focus on the fact that he’s a killer. That’s part of why Alastor is drawn to him. He’s so meek and unassuming…until he isn’t.
“I was married to him!”
What.
Alastor genuinely does a double take. Married? Alastor was only married to one man in his life, and that was…
Oh. Oh, this just got much more interesting.
His smile widens, propping his elbow on the table to rest his chin onto his palm, cocking his head to the side a little bit, raising an eyebrow. “Were you, now?” Clearly, Vox is more than excited to talk about his husband, which wow, he forgot how endearing his Vincent can be.
Looking at Vox through the lenses of Vincent Whittman, he’s surprised he never saw the similarities of the two of them. They’re both bumbling puppy-like idiots with a knack for murder and a desperate need for control. They’re both…blue. Immensely blue. Wow, Alastor feels immensely stupid, why did he not piece this together before? He supposes it makes sense that Vincent is down here, seeing as. Ahem. The murdering and cult thing - but he didn’t expect him to find him so fast.
His darling Vincent was always one to surprise him, wasn’t he?
Vox’s hands are waving around a little bit as he talks about his husband, about how lovely he was and how he really hopes he finds him down here, and- Well, who is Alastor to deny him?
“Vox, dear. Come here for a moment?”
Vox fully stops his hooting and hollering, or whatever, cocking his head to the side a bit as he looks at him. He raises an eyebrow, but slips out of his chair and goes to stand in front of the Radio demon, who remains in his position - which is to say, legs crossed, chin resting on the palm of his hand.
“What’s up, Al?”
Aw, he looks so confused. It’s insanely endearing. Alastor sighs, sitting up straight and bringing his hand to the collar of Vox’s shirt. Vox, of course, is sent into a panic, genuinely worrying he’s going to get killed, and Alastor just finds that so cutely endearing. He hums, digging his claws into the shirt and tugging him down into a kiss.
It’s nice, Alastor supposes. He’s generally not one to kiss, or hug, or do any romantic or physical affection - but Vincent was and is occasionally an exception. That being said, he only kisses him for two ish seconds before he pulls away, gently patting the top of his head. Before Alastor can speak up, with a smug little line he’s sure, Vox speaks up.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” Aw. His screen is flushed. That’s cute. Gosh, Alastor missed his husband. He laughs, pulling his hand back down and lightly pushing him away.
“Now, now, dear- you surely can’t be that dim, can you?” Alastor lightly nudges his knee into his thigh, raising his eyebrow and crossing his legs. Surely, Vox will realize by now, right?
Thank god that he does, because Alastor does not want to have to explain it to him. Vox blinks, staring for one, two, three seconds, before- “No fucking way- Alain????” There we go. Alastor hums, a funny little ‘ding-ding-ding’ sound coming from his cane’s speaker. He knew Vincent wasn’t that stupid. Or, at least- he hoped so.
“Oof!” Vox tackle hugs him for no reason, which agitates Alastor, his smile tensing and his ears pressing back against his head. However, he allows it. Vincent had always been just so clingy, a touchy man who wouldn’t leave him alone if he commanded it of him. And now he has a TV man sitting in his lap in public, which…sure. Okay. He sighs, wrapping his arms around his waist. He supposes he can allow this, just this once.
It makes his darling Vincent happy, after all.