Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was midnight and Alastor was running through the trees.

He was barefooted and fleet, needing only the moonlight to pick out the trail that wound through the forest with surety, vaulting over rotting logs and clattering across tangled webs of exposed tree roots. Tall grass whispered as he flew through it, chasing the stars across the open sky of a clearing, drawn onward by unerring instinct that told him that he was closing the distance that lay between him and his prey.

Prey?
No, not prey.
This wasn't a hunt.

He had the scent now, fresh and still warm where it clung to twigs and leaves that had rubbed against the other as they had run through here bare minutes ago—the scent was pungently earthy, a sweet fetid odor that overwhelmed sense and reason, musky and primal. It spurred him on, breath whistling in his teeth, and oh! now he could hear them up in front of him, crashing though bushes as he gained on them and they abandoned all attempts at stealth to try to keep one step ahead.

A futile attempt.

They were fast—faster than him—but this chase had been going long enough that stamina was more important than speed. They were tiring.

Not a hunt.
This was a courtship.

Alastor could see flashes of pale light flickering though the trees—not the moon. It was an artificial light, tinged blue, illuminating screens of leaves and branches seconds before they leapt through them, onward.

Close close close close close...

He veered off the trail, hooves splashing through swampy puddles and quieting the nighttime choruses of frogs and crickets.

These were his woods.
He knew his woods.
There was no escape.

Alastor slid down a small slope, jumped a braided creek, and slammed bodily into the other, knocking them from their feet to the ground.

It was a doe! His doe!
Long-limbed, lithe, lovely...
...and reeking of estrus.

His knees buckled at the mouthwatering smell, dropping him to the moss-cushioned ground. He had to approach on all fours, but that felt right, that felt good. Need clawed deep in his belly and as much as he wanted to move faster, to pounce and take what was his by all natural right, his limbs were sluggish and heavy. He felt like he was trying to fight a powerful river current.

His doe stared at him with huge, strikingly red eyes, beautiful in fear and hunger, trembling. She snorted, lowered her head, and ah! His first impression had been incorrect: this was no doe. The dim light of the moon highlighted the thin antlers of this spike buck in shining silver, a pathetic rack turned delicate crown by the night. He snorted again, tail flicking as they both watched each other warily as they tried to determine how this interaction would go.

Alastor flipped an ear and took a step forward, then another, fighting for each inch gained. Buck or doe—it made no difference to the instincts furiously whipping him into madness. He would take them, possess them, breed them until he was satisfied, until they broke…

He wanted to hear him scream.

Yes.
Yes.

Scream for him so prettily, so desperately, lost in pleasure and pain as he bit them, fucked them, clawed them to pieces, spilled inside of them until they couldn’t hold another drop.

Whatever force that had been restraining him snapped, almost audibly, and Alastor lunged at the other, claws and teeth and painfully aching cock, to take and take and take and…

Vox.

It was Vox under him, panting and bleating, thrusting back against him greedily. Not a deer.

Sort of a deer...? Alastor’s perception of him shifted between a buck, a man, a television demon, sometimes all three at once, unable to pin down just one version of reality. Fitting really; it was not much different than the confused blur of Vox as friend, rival, enemy, sometimes all three at once.

Pleasure shot through his core with heat—a flame leaping bright and hot to sear his gut and chest—and then he was shaking bonelessly in the wake of his climax, Vox crying out his name and arching up in response…

Alastor woke with a start.

It took a few beats for him to fully grasp that he was in his forest, alone, and that sticky smears on his thighs and abdomen were in response to a dream, not reality.

He’d been dreaming.
Just a dream.

He uncurled, grimacing at the tacky feeling of drying sweat and semen, and lurched to his feet to clean up in one of the many smaller, cleaner pools that were scattered through the woods. Unfortunately, no amount of water was going to wash the bad taste of that vivid dream from his mouth and brain, never mind erase the memories that were the basis of that dream.

The memory of cyan claws gripping his hips. Of the silky smooth texture of synthetic skin sliding against him. Of that delirious heat and pressure that gripped him like a vice when he mounted him. Of unraveling into ecstasy so profound it hurt as that plasma tongue took him apart from the inside.

Fuck!

The worst part was the throb of arousal that accompanied those memories, his body craving more. It wanted to be touched. It wanted to feel a hot mouth ravenously consuming him. It had been easier to ignore the demands of his rut before, before he had a taste of pleasures of the flesh.

Four hours, his treacherously horny mind reminded him of Vox’s peculiar brag, and Alastor hissed in frustration, ears pinned flat even as the horrendously single-minded thing between his legs jerked further upright. Not even the cold pond water quelled its enthusiasm as he waded in up to his waist, though it did help ground him slightly.

It was just a dream. Nothing more. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t wet dreams before, especially during rut, though the content was usually more vague and violent. Experience had just honed it into something sharper.

Alastor splashed more water onto his heated face. This was Hell. This was actual torment and suffering. He was going insane. He wanted to tear his own skin off, try to rip the perfidious flesh and its mindless animality from his own bones. He shivered and sank down deeper in the water, feeling both overheated and freezing as if wracked by fever.

No, he had to move. He had to maintain his territory! He had to be vigilant in protecting his turf and its resources from any others that would want to take it from him—including any mates that might wander into his range. Maybe a long run would help alleviate some of the ache in his muscles, work some of the tension from them.

He stepped out of the pond and shook the water from his coat—once, twice—then took off at a trot. He was hit with a touch of déjà vu—he'd just run through here in his dream. Reality was melting like Dali's watches, but the air was warm and clean, like growing things and water and disappointingly, frustratingly, like nothing else.

He paused in a clearing, stamping a hoof against the soft ground as he looked around. Nothing, just the nighttime creatures going about their nightlives and the breeze in the treetops. He turned in a slow circle, straining to catch a whiff of any other scent, then bugled like a bull elk and pawed at the ground in a fit of pissiness.

He said he'd come back.
(Get ahold of yourself!)
Why hasn't he come back?
(I have dealt with this alone for decades! I don't need that arrogant son of a bitch!)
He said he'd come back!
                  I need I need I need
(He's not coming back. Why should he?
He'd going to ruin you.)
No, he wants. He wants. He'll come.

Alastor clutched his own head, groaning miserably behind his strained, mad smile, then reached to stroke himself off. The fist still clutching a knot of hair pulled hard, and he could pretend for a crucial few seconds that it wasn't his own hands he was feeling, that he was twisted up in other's arms. It relieved a little pressure, not enough, and the rush of orgasm felt hollow.

He thrashed an immature tree until the trunk snapped, then took off running again.

The sky was just starting to pale from black to navy when something got Alastor's attention. He wasn't conscious of what it was that caught his notice: a flash that wasn't heat lightning, perhaps, or a shift in the elecromagnetic spectrum. It didn't matter. He froze for a moment, all systems on high alert, then fell into shadow.

“Whoa-oh-oly shit!” Vox did not get even a fraction of a second to get his bearings before he was slammed into the ground, Alastor tearing at him wildly, driven out of his mind with lust and that musky scent up in his nose. “Hey! Hey! Shhhhhhit! Al, you—you gotta... Fucking calm the fuck down! Alastor! Motherfuuuuu...!”

They fought for a moment as Vox brought his arms up to try to block some of the violence, kicking frantically, and managed to snag one of Alastor's wrists at the expense of being bitten for his success. “Al, goddammit, stop!” He pulled, jerking the Radio Demon hard enough that those burning red eyes met his own. A second was all he needed, eye rippling black over red over black.

“Calm down. Stop fighting.”

Alastor's entire body shuddered as he took in the command, somehow both trying to accept it and simultaneously reject it.

“Calm the hell down.”

He shuddered again, muscles slackening as the tension left him, first as a trickle and then as a downpour. The parts of him that had begun to demonically deform eased back into their normal configurations. The hellish fog of hormones started to clear; his mind was almost—almost!—within reach. His voice was husky, static-filled. “Again.”

“Alastor. Relax.” The hand not holding his wrist held his jaw in a delicate grip. “This isn't what you want.”

He took a deep, wracking breath and let it out with a noise half-laugh, half-sob. “Again.”

“I will give you what you want. But you need to stay calm. Good. Good boy, Al—just relax. Trust me.”

Alastor sagged like a boneless thing and screamed into Vox's chest, arms curled around his head—screamed and laughed and choked. Later, later he would look back on this in seething hatred, enraged at the irony of Vox being the only one capable of granting him any relief from the feral madness of rut. Now, though, the lightness and clarity of his mind was so, so sweet it brought tears to his eyes.

Vox had not specified not being aroused, just calm. Alastor knew better than to hope for that; he was grateful enough just to feel like himself and not like a possessed beast. Aroused and grateful enough to grind against Vox in slow circles, nuzzling his face against his screen, breathy little pants giving way to soft moans as his pace increased.

“Yeah, isn't this better?” Vox purred in his ear as he arched up to meet the apex of each thrust. “Just trust big bad business daddy to take care of you, sweetheart.”

Alastor snorted with laughter that built up into cries of pleasure as the friction became too much, too good, and he came while quivering with silent giggles of how utterly, embarrassingly ridiculous Vox was when he was trying too hard.

“Are—mmmm!—you,” Vox tried to be coherent even as he started to lose control. “Unh! Fffffffucking laughing, ah! at me!? Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He held Alastor's hips and pushed him down against him as he bucked a few more times, shaking as he came.

“No, of course not, business daddy.” How he managed to get that out without howling, he didn't know. Honestly, how was one supposed to react to that in any way other than mockery and laughter? A crazed little titter fell out of his mouth and he clapped his hands over it with a mock horrified look.

“Awwww, fuck you!”

“Oh, is the big bad business daddy going to spank me?”

“For fu— You know what, goddamn right I am! March that furry ass in the woods and get me a switch!”

“N̷̨͎̟̥̉́͌̕o̵̗͖̐.” Alastor's good humor died instantly, a scalpel severing a vein. Something cold prickled up and down his spine.

Vox's cyan pupils flicked back and forth, reading the shift in atmosphere and body language like text. He brushed his fingers through red hair. “No,” he agreed readily, pushing to sit up with Alastor in his lap. “But you're still an asshole.”

Alastor relaxed against him again. “Don't expect me to change now.”

A corner of Vox's mouth curled. “Good.”

Chapter Text

“I'm going to take the best care of you, sweetheart. The best. Trust me.”

Vox was curious how deep his commands penetrated that stubborn, arrogant, enigmatic prick's brain. It was so much easier when he was using all of his willpower fighting his own body and instincts! There wasn't enough effort or energy available to maintain the kind of mental firewall needed to keep Vox out. In fact...

In fact, he'd pleaded for it! He'd wanted it! Rolled out the welcome mat and said, 'Make yourself at home!' God, he must hate this. He's gotta hate this so fuckin' bad if he's willing to do that.

This was better than a winning lotto ticket on his birthday. This was fucking D-Day, only if instead of battling up the beaches of Normandy, the Allies were greeted by Germans inviting them in for wienerschnitzel, saurkraut, and catastrophically ruinous sex.

Alastor tipped his head. Trust...him? Did he trust him? Did...? Maybe? Yes. Yes, he could trust Vox. Right? He nodded very slowly.

Fuck yes. He got in there deeper than he'd hoped.

Vox smiled and combed his claws through his hair. “Good. Good. Now, why don't we can see if we can't fuck the rut right out of you, hm? How's that sound?”

Well, that sounded fucking perfect. Alastor nodded with more vigor, hands reaching greedily. “Worth a shot,” he agreed, and his tongue flicked out to lick his lips even as his eyes flickered unsteadily. It took effort not to just keep thrusting against him. “Yes, I want... I want...” he panted.

Vox pushed him away, twisting under him. His fingers made short work of his simple button-down and slacks, pulling them off quickly. Alastor was trying to help though he was, in fact, doing the exact opposite. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. You wanna breed me, right? Isn't that what your screwed up little deer brain craves? Easy, baby, easy! Let me—hey!—let me get into... Oof!”

Vox was shoved off balance, face on the ground as his lower half was yanked upwards. Alastor was nipping at his ass, lapping up any tiny drops of blood he drew, drawn in by the salty, musky taste-smell of bared intimate areas, then paused, making a confused sound. Vox struggled to get an arm braced under him, then laughed.

“What...?” Alastor's voice faded in and out of static as he stared. How was he supposed to mount his buck if there was already something in the way? He touched the exposed base of something currently occupying his parking space, ears twitching at the way Vox hummed in pleasure and stretched like a cat.

“Just a placeholder,” Vox assured him. “Go on, pull it o—oh! ”

Alastor was way ahead of him, tugging at the plug and watching with fascination as his body pulled it back in. He did want to be bred! He stank of pheromones and lust, and look how he fought to keep even this inadequate, artificial thing inside of him! Silly little television deer, making Alastor frantic while dealing with his own frustrations with a...a pacifier!

Vox yelled at the plug was wrenched out of him forcefully, rocking him back on his knees, then the Radio Demon was on him, the head of his cock sliding in the lube left from the plug uselessly to one side then the other. He growled and tried again, gasping with a low cry of relief as he sank deeply into the wet-hot-tight hole he'd wanted so, so badly. His mind went blissfully blank as instinct took the wheel, hips jerking as he claimed his bitch-buck once more. Whatever ridiculous thing he'd had filling his hole had stretched the muscle; he wasn't quite as crushingly tight as before, but this was better, easy to slide all the way in until he bottomed out, the friction scratching an unbearable itch.

Yes
Yes yes yes
Take it
Take all of it
Take it all.

Vox bowed his head into one of his braced forearms. The air was punched out of him with each thrust. This time he'd know what he was walking into and was ready for it, and it was still intense—almost frighteningly so. It was delicious, too, the sense of being overpowered and used for savage pleasure, pinned down and fucked like an animal, by an animal. Primal, atavistic. Alastor out of his mind like a beast possessed.

It was fucking fantastic.

His other hand worked his achingly hard cock, its rhythm also set by the strength of the thrusts. The claws clutching his hips in a bruising grip punctured skin, and Vox keened into the ground, tension winding tight, tight, tight in his core. He shuddered, feeling Alastor start to buck in jerky little motions as he got closer, then the liquid hot glow of his release warm inside of him.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” he hissed white noise between his clenched teeth as the pleasure pushed him past the moment of no return. “Yes!” Come painted the grass under his belly. “Yes! Fuck, yes!” Vox moaned at each new spurt, clenching down on the hard length still hilted in his ass.

Alastor tried to catch his breath, staring wide-eyed at the sight of being fully buried in his spike buck. He started to withdraw, come flowing out around him in heavy drips, then gave another experimental thrust back in. Oh. Oh, that was... He began slowly, working up speed as he went, hips pumping.

Vox made some choked noise, trembling all over as Alastor resumed fucking him. “Al? Al, what are you doing? That's...ah, shit...oh shit... Shit, ss-stop...”

“Fuck/claim!” Alastor proclaimed with a crazy grin, well aware that what little sanity he'd clawed back with Vox's help had apparently also been shot out of his dick when he'd climaxed. “Mark you, scent you, breed you... Pretty, pretty buck, breed you like a doe, my doe, and...and...ah! Sogood!”

Vox bit his own arm to keep from screaming. The upgrades might make his COO functional for multiple hours, but rather obviously, they didn't mitigate sensation. They also did nothing for his prostate, which felt like it was being used as a cock punching-bag, and that was A Lot. Too Much, in fact. Somehow his body spasmed in another orgasm, electric and much more painful than the last, and the flesh in his mouth did not stop his speakers from shrieking.

“Sogood, take it, take all of it!” Alastor tore one hand from Vox's hip to grab his antennae and pulled like it was hair. Vox's head was forced back and there was nothing to hinder his screams as his systems started overloading. “You're mine! Mine! Kill... Kill anyone else...touches my doe, my pretty buck, kill them, kill for what's mine!” His eyes rolled madly and he stamped a hoof as he spilled again in the wet heat set on squeezing him dry. The pressure was too much—Vox's body was holding him inside forcefully enough that it took effort to pull free from him in another flood of come.

Alastor staggered backward until he fell, feeling warm and relaxed like he'd had far too much whiskey.

With nothing holding him in place, Vox collapsed into his own wet spot, shaking and gasping.

Holy shit, he could probably even put Val through his paces, the way he is now.
Of course, he wouldn't. He'd try to rip Val to pieces the way he is now.
Fuuuuuuuck, that would be a fun fight to watch.

And it would be easy as dropping a lit match into a drum of gasoline. All Vox would have to do is set it up as a challenge: winner gets the right to his very-much-in-demand ass. The thought made him chuckle. Alastor would lose his fucking shit, and being around Val would only make his rut so much worse...

Letting that loose on Pentagram City would be interesting as Hell. There was no way Al would keep his rampage confined to the tower. It'd be so easy to goad him, wind him up and watch the world burn.

Bambi meets Godzilla. (If Bambi was Godzilla.)
Oh-oh, there goes Toyko! Go, go, Godzilla!

Vox laughed. He was Helen of Troy with a fucking flatscreen! Absolutely wild and wildly flattering.

“Hmm?” Alastor had regained some calm. He sat next to him, butted up against his side, and his hand smoothed over his back in a languid caress. “Something amusing, my dear? Care to share?” His hand wasn't enough. He swung a leg over Vox to straddle him, laid on him like a cat, started licking between his shoulder blades.

“Just...” Vox waved vaguely to indicate everything. “...didn't expect this 24 hours ago. Or, you know, ever. Not sure how this can still feel so unreal when...” When it's the realest thing I've experienced in a while. “'S funny in a fucked up kind of way.”

“Yes, someday we will look back on this and laugh.” The sarcasm came with a hard nip to his shoulder and a garnish of recorded audience laughter. Alastor hummed and bit again—enough to draw blood, but nothing more—then laved his tongue over the spot, chasing pain with pleasure. Then his antlers bumped against antennae...and that was an interesting feeling. It was like playing a theremin, but with his head instead of his hands.

He huffed his own laugh. The only one he'd played before was, humorously enough, an RCA ThereminVox, in late 1929. Oddly, it seemed not many could afford the obscene price for the exotic instrument when it became available...and that was long before the breadlines that wrapped around city blocks.

Well, he has his own now! He moved his head, sensing frequencies and feelings as if picking out a long-forgotten melody by memory. This was a kaleidoscope view of Vox's strange electronic subconscious, all parts fracturing into undecipherable patterns—beautiful nonsense. His nose bumped against the back of his screen, his tongue automatically licking out to continue grooming.

“I have the most confused boner right now,” Vox wondrously told the ground. He could only compare the sensation rippling down his antennae to an intense MDMA-induced headrush, though that couldn't even touch this. “What the hell are you doing, you horny freak?”

“Playing with you,” Alastor purred breathlessly, lips practically on his microphone, and Vox groaned helplessly, a sound that made the Radio Demon growl and try to bite the back of his head...affectionately.

(Fortunately for Vox, Alastor didn't use enough force to get a grip on the smooth chassis and his teeth just cut thin lines.)

“Yeah, I got that part,” Vox gritted out, mangled by distortion. His dick wasn't the only part of him confused—most of his body didn't know what to do with this peculiar form of input, leaving him slowly writhing under Alastor.

“Hmmm...” His charming, albeit stupid, companion seemed to enjoy having his peculiar-looking antlers touched as much as Alastor enjoyed toying with them. He pushed himself up more off of Vox's back and carefully took one of the spikes in his teeth, tongue curling to pull one of the round tips into his mouth.

The effect was instantaneous. Vox jolted upright with a yell, tossing Alastor...who still had the end of his antennae behind his teeth. In fact, he couldn't let it go even if he wanted to, his jaws locked hard by an accidental—and accidentally strong—discharge of electricity into his mouth. Vox yelled again as his head whipped back with Alastor's weight, then his back bent in a sharp curve, and he tumbled backward to land on Alastor in an ungainly heap.

“Fuck...!”

Alastor finally got his muscles to obey and he spat out the little red ball, sending the antenna wobbling. The inside of his mouth hurt like he'd been chewing on steel wool bubble gum—a decently nasty electric burn to savor before it healed. “I take it that was good for you?” he quipped drily, noting with distaste the slurry quality of the words due to numb lips.

“What the actual fuck. Oh my God.” Vox rubbed at his screen with the heels of his hands, dramatically flopping further back onto Alastor. “You gotta warn a guy before you stick his balls in your mouth.”

“No need to be crass, my dear!”

“Little hypocritical for someone who just had his dick so far up my ass I could almost taste it.”

“That is quite enough vulgarity from you, thank you,” Alastor said primly, though his smile curled deep and wicked, eyes in narrow slits. “Keep it up and I'll need to give you something better to do with your mouth again, hm?”

That got an interested peek from behind Vox's hands, eyebrow quirking. “Shit, piss, fuck, motherfucker, cunt, tits, cocksucker.”

“What?” Alastor gave him an odd, unimpressed look.

“If you knew literally any pop culture from any decade after the 30s, you'd understand that I'm clever. Alas, it's wasted on your vintage ass.” Vox looked up at him with a grin. “I take that back. Nothing is wasted on that ass. Speaking of, you want me to eat you like a fucking snack?”

Alastor’s ears fwipped cutely at this, betraying his interest even as he managed to keep his face neutral. “I might be persuaded,” he hummed, “but right now I’m much more interested a different skill set of yours.”

“Oh?” Vox was intrigued and eager. “Yeah, sweetheart, whatcha want?”

Warm water.

He wanted a warm pool to bathe in, and was delighted to find that, yes, indeed, Vox could produce a steady but weak current that could heat one up adequately.
(“This is tepid at best!”
“I think what you mean is thank you for not evaporating the entire thing in an explosion or frying my brain, also in an explosion. Asshole.”
“…wait, do brains actually explode when you do that?”
“It’s nasty as fuck and smells like overcooked liver.”
Alastor looked disturbingly delighted at this revelation.)
He did grumble about this minor task more than was strictly necessary, but that was no surprise.

Vox also made the water, hmmm…sparkling? In a sense? The water was warm but also electrified enough to send pins and needles up and down his entire body, an odd sensation of cold that prickled his hair and set his skin twitching like that of a deer shuddering off an annoying fly.

“You’re lucky you’re fucking putting out, else I’d fry you to a blackened crisp right now,” Vox muttered, sounding much more offended than his body language indicated. He was waist deep, leaning back against a large rock, occasionally splashing water at Alastor, looking surprisingly at ease through laughably out of place.

He would do no such thing. The Radio Demon was bewitching in the soft pastels of misty dawn, nude, wet flesh blushed pink and peach. Water was running down his torso in twisting silvery streams, beading on fur like pearls.

Vox did plan on ruining that beautiful, savage creature today. He was very much looking forward to it, actually.
However, said ruination did not include hitting Alastor with enough electricity to make his eyes boil in their sockets.

That would be blasphemy.
(And counterproductive.)

Alastor could feel the demands of rut catching up again, tugging insistently in his gut and intensifying when he glanced over at his companion and saw him watching with hungry eyes. He sank down into the water to his shoulder coyly, despite the feisty nips of electricity that were doing…things…to sensitive parts, and smirked at the way Vox shifted, red lines streaking from his mouth in excitement.

That wolfish grin and predatory gaze locked on him was also doing some things to his insides, things he did not want to try to analyze. Not that he would get far with that in his current state, anyway. His body was starting to ache—heartbeat like a timpani drum, quivering through his entire body. “Stop looking at me like that,” he demanded…or rather tried to demand. The breathlessness undermined his intent, twisting the words until they inverted in meaning.

Vox laughed, low and dark, grin widening. “Like what? Like I want to devour you? Sorry, sweetheart, but no. I like what I see.”

“I’ll run you through.” Alastor shook his crown of antlers in warning. Static rose and fell in his tone. “Pin you against a tree like an insect on display. Tear your abdomen open until your intestines spill.”

“That would make sucking your cock a lot more difficult,” Vox pointed out nonchalantly, completely unfazed by the threat. Alastor’s face did something peculiar—it almost seemed to glitch, like his own screen—and he whined. Annoyance or desperation, it didn’t matter. Probably a little of both, though mostly he looked a little like a bratty child pissy because he was told that he needed to behave if he wanted ice cream.

A-fucking-dorable.

“Also,” he added after a moment, eye spiraling but wielding no compulsion, “I wouldn’t let you. Unless you plan on charging in literally blind, which would be stupid. You’re not stupid, Al, just horny and cranky about it.”

Alastor scoffed, but couldn't actually disagree with anything he'd said...and his psuedo-suggestion was interesting, put mildly. His hormone-pickled brain wouldn't let it go—the thought of Vox on his knees, his filthy mouth doing the filthy things at which it excelled. Choking as he fucked his stupid flat face as it stared up at him reverently. Like he was lucky to be able to serve his better in this manner. He shuddered, only vaguely aware that he moved closer, curling his lips back to taste the scent of him—sharp like pine needles, earthy like peat, intense and arousing—and nuzzle against his shoulder.

“Don't you worry your pretty head about it.” Vox stroked his hands along the lines of that pretty head, thumb brushing against his cheekbones, claws curling at the base of his ears. “You'll have plenty of other chances to eviscerate me later. Right now, that is not what you want, though.”

“I— I want...” Alastor cringed at the words he wanted to say, and static smothered them at first, but rut was muscling its way back into his head at an alarming rate now. “Y-yes. I want you to...” He flailed at language, trying to force it to cough up something that got the point across without sounded obscene. “...service me,” he finally settled. He rubbed his heated face against the smooth skin of his pectorals and considered biting.

“Is this your old-timey way of telling me that the idea of me sucking you off is a good one?” Vox grinned, pulling his hair until he forced those hazy red eyes to meet his own. “Say it. Say, I want you to suck my dick. C'mon, sweetheart. Don't be shy now; we are well past that point.”

Alastor flushed darker, eyes narrowing with displeasure, impatience, arousal and shame. “Pathetic as well as perverted! I'd say you never fail to disappoint, but that would require me to, well...” He was pissy and prickly, spitting words like poison darts. “...to give a shit about you in the first place!” Canned audience laughter.

Vox's face hardened instantly, eye activating furiously, and when he pulled Alastor's hair again, it was cruel enough to rip a chunk out. “Do not. Push. Your luck.” His voice was a distorted snarl. “I don't think you understand that I'm in control right now. Not you. D̴o̴ ̷y̷o̸u̷ ṷ̶͗n̴͉̕d̸̥͗ḛ̷͐r̶̨͆s̷̘̎t̷̤̔a̶̙̐ņ̴̂d̶̯̄ ̸͓͗m̸͍̈e̸̦̓?̵̪̃”

The hypnosis hit him like a bullet between his eyes. He'd gotten lulled into a dreamy complacency, and this upstart of a buck was viper-quick in his hostility—the result of Alastor's own unnecessary provocation. Alastor had essentially done this to himself, and that stung bitterly. Paradoxically, he wanted to lash out again, furious at himself and willing to take it out on another target.

It was probably for the best that he was incapable of doing that at the moment.

He was, however, experiencing yet more things swirling up spark-bright, spark-hot, through his shivering body at being manhandled, at having Vox's volatile temper in his face, and most of all at the sheer, terrifying realization that had let himself get into this position. He could have fought back. He could have at least defended himself. Instead, he was starring in a violent reinterpretation of Klimt's The Kiss, cold sweat starting to trickle down his back.

Alastor nodded.

“Say. It.”

“...yes.”

“I don't fucking believe you. Try harder.”

“Yes, I understand you!” His throat spasmed as if to choke on the words.

“I'm in control!” Vox pressed, though he felt anything but. He wasn't naive enough to believe that the Radio Demon was crying, but the bastard's eyes were sure watering like hell...probably needed to blink. Sucks to be you. Fuck, he was so hard. Nauseatingly, agonizingly hard. He was going to rail this arrogant son of bitch raw.

“Yes,” Alastor gasped.

“Yes, what?”

He whined, an animal in a trap. “You're in control.”

“Goddamn right, I am.” Vox loosened his grip, brushing ripped-out strands of hair away. Alastor whined again and shifted restlessly, and Vox thought for a feverish half-second that he was going to come just from the feeling of the hot, hard length grinding into his thigh. His eyes were huge with shock. “Baby,” he said incredulously, “do you like this?”

“I—I don't know! I don't know!”

Vox barked a disbelieving laugh. No fucking way. No way! He pushed a little. “Oh, you know...” He trailed the very tip of his claw up his pretty red cock, eliciting another whimper. “...you just don't want to admit it. Go on, tell me I'm wrong.”

Oh, shit. Maybe the fucking Radio Demon could cry after all. He looked horrified and bewildered, mesmerized eyes wide and flooding.

...and there suddenly wasn't any air. Vox felt like he was deep underwater, dizzy with asphyxiation, some place beyond rational thought. He wrapped his long fingers around both of their erections and it only took a few firm strokes before they were both spilling hot over his hand, eyes rolling closed, noises of pleasure and relief torn loose from their throats. Trembling legs buckled and dropped them both into cool shallow water.

With no warning, Alastor bit deep into Vox's bicep with an animal snarl. Vox screamed and tried to pull away, but he'd earned this... Hell, he was probably getting off light with a straight-forward mauling, all things considered, though the incoherent shrieking and whine of feedback was unnerving as fuck.

He was starting to get light-headed from the pain before he finally interrupted, snapping electricity. “Al— motherfucker!— Al! That's enough! Oh, you bastard! I'm in control!”

Alastor hesitated, confused, blood dripping from his jaws. Vox was bleeding a lot for someone supposedly in control.

“I'm in control,” he repeated, looked at Al fixedly.

“I didn't like that,” Alastor said, stating the obvious as if Vox hadn't figured that the fuck out already. He started to clean his face. “Don't do that again.” His eyes flashed dials.

“Don't be an asshole just because of your prudishness and I won't have to.”

His ears flattened. “This is...difficult,” he admitted stiffly, looking ascant. He seemed to search for something to clarify that, but just said again, “This is difficult for me.” Vox hadn't taken advantage of him while he was vulnerable. He'd insisted that he was the dominant male, of course, which was to be expected, and he pushed Alastor to believe it...but that wasn't anything in the grand scheme of things. That was barely a step up from playing. The anticipatory fear picking at him had made him accept it without much struggle, better that than...

“I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I?” Fuck, that came out soft. Vox recalibrated his tone. “It's all for the ROI, baby!”

Alastor chuckled. It wasn't funny, but it was in it's own way. It was difficult for Vox, too, after all. He knew that. But...he was trying.

Oh, the strange things heating up his insides like coals were back again. Yay.

Then his stomach growled. Alastor looked down at himself in surprise. The taste of blood had reminded his body that it still needed nourishment.

Vox pressed his hand against his rumbling belly with an amused snort. He was grateful for the out. They both needed a moment. “If you're alright for a little, I'll run out grab us some breakfast.” He held up a hand to forestall the incoming order. “I know what you like and how you like it.”

“Because you're a stalker.”

“And I'll get some coffee.”

Alastor hummed. “That does buy a not-inconsiderable amount of forgiveness.”

Vox pushed him back gently. “I think that food might help with a lot of things this morning. See you in, I don't know, say, an hour?”

Alastor caught his wrist. “An hour. You'll come back.”

“Yeah...still wanna fuck you despite everything because I'm stubborn that way. I'll be back, sweets.”

Ball lightning popped into existence and zapped away.

Chapter Text

“Alright, I got… Did you blindfold yourself? Really?”

Alastor turned toward Vox’s voice, ears flicking. “Coffee?” he chirped eagerly, disengaging from the tree he was currently shredding.

Vox rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake…” he muttered, pressing the hot cup into Alastor’s blindly outstretched hand. “Was that my pants?”

Those clothes were a lost cause from the moment he decided to take advantage of Al’s rut, he’d known that, but it still felt a little rude to rip them to pieces just to avoid eye contact. Vox had been careful(ish) with his damn eye, skirting the edges of what he thought he could get away with. Oh, he could force the Radio Demon into wanting or believing anything right now, his defenses low as he struggled with himself, but that wasn’t as fun as merely watching Alastor’s fight with his own instincts and hormones.

He didn’t deserve a fig leaf to hide behind. Vox would allow him no excuse of that wasn’t me, I didn’t want that, he made me do it, he made me want it, he made me like it, beg for it…

No, no.

It was important to him that Alastor did want it. Did like it. Did beg for it. No interference, no manipulation. Just him, his body, his desires.

But…maybe Vox’d grant him another moment of lucidity. Just a taste, just to savor his ruthless descent back into a lustful animal. Grant him relief for a bit so that the torture was worse when it resumed. Let him yo-yo between his normal tightly-controlled self and this frantic, needy mess until his psyche started to crack from the stress and strain.

The idea made his mouth water, his dick twitch with interest.

“They smelled good,” Alastor grudgingly admitted before taking rapid swallows of his coffee. He did not have to go into further detail about how he’d rolled in them like a dog in roadkill, how he’d buried his face in them just to get as much out of them as possible: musk and mint, the scent sharp like steel, like snow. “Breakfast, if you please?”

“I would be a lot easier if you could see what you’re doing.” Vox kept as much disappointment from his voice as possible.

Alastor shook his head with vehemence, sneering. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Getting in my head again? Making me into one of your mindless puppets so that you can pull my strings and make me an obedient dolly? Hah! No.”

“Yeah, because if I was gonna do that, I definitely wouldn’t do it either of the first two times I got you because I know there will always be so many opportunities.” Vox waved the bag containing well-aged meat in front of Alastor’s face and nearly lost his fingers. “Shit! Fuckin’ grabby bastard. Could at least say thank you.”

“Thank you.” Alastor supposed he could at least be civil for now. Vox wasn’t actively trying to be any more obnoxious than usual…and the coffee did, in fact, buy a lot of forgiveness for his earlier snap of temper. His point was valid—he hadn’t done anything…substantial, for lack of a better word—though perhaps that was his play: lure Alastor into a sense of complacency by behaving for now, only to backstab him later.

The meat wasn’t gamey enough, but his body cried out for the calories and hunger made even a meager meal taste like a feast.

“I thought you appreciated it when I got in your head,” Vox commented, licking cream cheese from his thumb as he polished off a bagel. “When I quieted all the noise in there screaming at you to stick your dick in anything with a hole, you wanted me to do it.”

Alastor’s ears flicked even as his brows drew in at the blunt phrasing. He was listening.

“And yeah, I lost my temper a little, alright? Made you squirm a bit. But all I did was make you uncomfortable.” Even if Al didn’t take this bait, there would be some point in which he was too lost in his rut to notice the blindfold’s removal, Vox was sure. “And you liked that, too. Oh, sure, I can hear you gearing up to argue, but your body already told the truth about that. Big scary Radio Demon got so fuckin’ hard from being commanded to grovel I barely had to touch you and you were coming in my hands.”

“You don't—!” Alastor wasn't growling so much as making the very air vibrate with radio waves, claws elongating and bones cracking. This spiteful, impudent bastard and his untamed tongue needed a reminder that, despite his early claims, he was not the dominant buck and Alastor was not in the mood to be lenient on further rebelliousness. His eyes were black as his damned soul.

Vox stared him down (in a manner of speaking) for what felt like eternity, irritation spiking at having to put up with these hormonal, aggressive outbursts. The circuits of his electronic mind lit up, and suddenly reality seemed to have a much higher framerate than usual. Seconds stretched out into nanoseconds, giving him more time to react. The speed was necessary. This trick would be impossible without the computing power needed to slow his perception of the flow of time—well, possible, but uncontrollable. He could clearly see the deformation of Alastor's body caught in slo-mo. He hadn't done this in a long while. He hadn't had to make any over-the-top showy power displays since...fuck, since his last fight with the Radio Demon at least.

Lightning was simply static electricity scaled-up.
There was no fundamental difference between the spark he generated to light Val's cigarette and the spark now rippling down from the sky and up from the ground between Alastor and him. Just size.

The feeling of slowed-down time allowed him to see both the moment Alastor outgrew his make-shift blindfold and his sudden realization of what was happening at extremely close range. Vox's grin radiated beatific joy and then he snapped into a ball of electricity. This was going to suck so fucking hard for that bag of dicks and that was satisfying in a deep, intimate way.

What was faster: Alastor's melt into shadow or a lightning strike?

The shockwave knocked Alastor flat on his back and knocked the wind from him. Despite having closed and averted his eyes at the last moment, rainbow static fractals felt burned into them, and he would have shrieked at the shattering crack-boom! of near instantaneous thunder if he had air. A high ringing filled his ears and mind and it seemed to go on and on and on... Like a sewing needle vibrating inside his skull.

Something dark was moving around above him. Alastor stared at it through black-and-white visual snow, then tried blinking rapidly if that might help clear his eyes. Rectangular... red glowy bits... neon blue glowy bits... Oh, it was Vox. His mouth was moving and moving and moving and no sound came out—silent film, not a talkie. That was probably because of the ongoing gong ringing through his head.

“The fuck do you have to make this so goddamn difficult? Could you stop being a—a dramatic little bitch for like, 5 fucking minutes? Please?” Vox paused. Alastor was gazing blankly at him, smile a frozen rictus. His eyelids fluttered again. “You can't hear a single thing right now, can you? Of course you can't. You got to be—!”

A tentacle shot up from the ground, grabbed Vox like a child grabs a doll, and flung him, also much like how a child handles a doll.

The resultant crash and yell were loud enough to give Alastor a very small measure of satisfaction.

The woods were quiet for a while.

Eventually Alastor dragged himself to his feet, and stood swaying for a moment as vertigo gripped him. Concussion? He staggered to find Vox and laid beside him in an ungraceful near-flop.

“Hello, again.”

“Hey.”

“I've given some thought to what you were saying,” Alastor said loudly. His hearing was still shot. “And I concede that you were not entirely incorrect, old pal. My apologies for the misunderstanding!” Rut made his temper wicked short and Vox seemed incapable of speaking without saying something that he perceived as a challenge...particularly when he thought he had an advantage.

“Not entirely incorrect,” Vox repeated. “Yeah, okay. Thank you for that condescending grace, your highness.”

Alastor squinted at him, ears pressed forward.

“I said: Just play along!” he lied, loud enough to be heard clearly. “Where is the confusion, Alastor? Like I said before, if you want year-long silence, baby got to play ball. And if that means dealing with some rough language, sweetheart, then you're going to deal. Yeah?”

The squint turned into a glower, then a pout. “Very well. If I must.”

“Now, wasn't there something you wanted me to do?”

Alastor huffed in frustration, face flushing as he drew the moment out in his reluctance. “Fine,” he said finally, a gloss of artificial nonchalance coating the roughness of embarrassment. “Vox, would you be a dear and suck my dick?”

Vox smirked and rolled up onto his feet, grabbing Alastor's arm to pull him up with him. “See?” He started backing Alastor up against a large tree, caging him in with his arms, his glowing face taking up most of his field of vision. His left eye widened. “It's okay to enjoy it. No one else needs to know. Just relax. You don't need to fight, baby. Trust me.”

Alastor exhaled shakily, ears pinning back in sharp points. “Don't,” he said softly. “Don't. No further.”

“No.” Vox considered it for a moment, though, running his tongue over his teeth. It'd be so easy, so easy; he could just... “But I need to you back a little further off the ledge. Stop being pissy and start feeling horny again, you fucker. Turn the fuck on.”

Alastor jerked against the tree with a startled cry, feeling waves of syrupy heat wash through his body and sweep away the brittle edge of irritation. A simple physical command—Al's conscious brain might be hard to penetrate, but the subconscious was a dumb animal that reacted like a beast of prey. He slid a little in the moss, clutching at Vox for balance with a baffled expression at odds with his perma-smile.

“There you go,” Vox crooned, watching the tension start to leave his body. “There you go. You don't have to fight me, sweets. I just want to fuck you stupid...and you, you want to be fucked stupid. Isn't that just perfect?”

“I h-hate you so ffffffucking much,” Alastor hissed, venomous and sincere. “I ha—hey! Ah, fuck!”

“Yeah? Good. Hate me, then. It'll make wringing those orgasms out of you that much more fun.” Vox scooped him up and lifted him up until his antlers were in the branches, his legs draped over his shoulders, trapped between the tree and Vox's massive maw set to seemingly take a bit out of him like he was a piece of pie. Alastor squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard, and then that tidal wave of a mouth crashed down and over him, hot suction a riptide pulling him out to sea.

“Ah! Ah!” Alastor bucked, narrow ass flexing in Vox's grip, blindsided by his body's automatic response to the command and the glittering, staticy heat of Vox's mouth. That odd plasma tongue coiled around his cock like snake, tightening and squeezing as if to milk the thing of every drop of come that his body could produce, and that was... Oh, that was...!

He whined, arched his back against the rough tree bark. The slick, hot slide of that sinful mouth was driving him mad with pleasure. He reached out for something to steady him and his hands found the corners of his screen, gripping hard to hold him in close, try to get some leverage to thrust deeper into his throat.

He was being consumed. Vox was eating him alive. Feasting on him. And Alastor wanted to shove his way further into his mouth, feel that hot pressure swallowing him down. He wanted him to bite into his thighs, tear out great chunks of blood and meat and bone and marrow, cross all the lines between self and other until there was no difference at all—an unholy inversion of Holy Communion fit for demons of Hell. His antlers tangled in the tree as he writhed, wild-eyed and yelling as he tensed and came in a series of hard, spastic jerks.

Vox radiated smug like his screen radiated light as he swallowed, the flutter of his mouth and throat making Alastor gasp and clutch at him like a drowning man. The sucking didn't stop, however, and in seconds Alastor was twisting and crying out in the pain of overstimulation, body shuddering in pain-pleasure-too much-stop! “Vox!”

“Say please,” he taunted through his speakers, tongue rolling in slow, agonizing curls around the tip of his cock, static snapping. “Be sweet for me, Al. Say please.”

“Please!” Alastor finally cried out, flecks of blood flying from his bitten lips. “Fuck you! Oh, oh, oh!...stop, you deranged—” He snarled harshly. “—depraved—please!—derivative lickspittle!”

“See? You can be sweet.” Vox grinned at him with bright digital eyes as he lowered him back to the ground. “Sweet as a live scorpion rolled in powdered sugar, but eh. Close enough.” He laughed at the way Alastor's knees wobbled under him and made him grab for Vox's forearm for support.

His rage was still muted, and in his hazy post-orgasmic relief and lassitude, he failed to respond fast enough to keep himself from being literally swept off his feet and onto his back. Once Alastor realized it though, he began to lash out with hard hooves, animal hindbrain shrieking in raw panic at being submissive to his rival buck and exposed like prey.

“Oh. Oh-ho-ho, I like this! Yeah, c'mon...” Vox mostly dodged a kick to the screen. Instead of smashing his face in, that sharp hoof just clipped the edge of his chassis, forcefully turning his head like a solid punch. “Bitch!” he spat before lunging back in with a grin, grappling to catch one of the flailing limbs before it could connect again. “...make me work for it! Fuck, this makes it hotter. Knowing you hate this almost as much as you want it...” Shadows reached to restrain him and were scorched by electric shocks in alternating flashes of dark and light. Vox nearly lost a few fingers as he grabbed at Alastor's chin to hold his face—two of his claws took the brunt of the violence and were mangled like they had gone though a woodchipper.

Picking a locked door open using nothing but minimal tools and pure technical skill was a wonderful display of mastery. He'd talking Al into letting him have his way with him yesterday—no preparation, no planning, just improvising ways to hack his rutted-out brain's twisted instincts.

But sometimes it was more fun to just smash the door in with a sledgehammer. There was something to be said for the judicious use of blunt force.

“And you really want it. C'mon, just admit it: you want me to fuck you.”

Alastor squeezed his eyes shut, panting like he was fighting for his life. “I'm going to kill you. I'm—I'm, go—ah! kill you.”

Vox pressed the heel of his hand into his throat and bullied his kicking legs apart to press between them with an appreciative groan. “No, you're not. You want me to fuck you, and I want to hear you say it.”

Alastor was willing to forgo breathing if it meant he could smash his antlers into that smarmy bastard's stupid flat face. He pushed against the hand on his throat and twisted his head, antlers cracking like winter ice as they grew further. “No.” Like hell he was going to take this from a scrappy spike buck with a superiority complex. He was older, stronger, his crown of antlers huge as live oak branches, and he'd earned the right to breed this bitch-buck, to mount him and take his pleasure from him, to use him.

Vox shoved himself further against him, shuddering as his cock rubbed roughly through short, prickly fur and against Alastor's own still-too-sensitive erection, still spit-slick and twitchy, pre-come leaking from the deep red tip. He gave a miserable, pathetic bleat as his back arched up for more contact, more friction, and he tossed his head in frustrated rage at the responding chuckle.

“You liked it when I fucked you before.” Even with his eyes screwed tightly closed, Alastor could hear the peculiar resonance of Vox's hypnosis trying to pull him into compliance. Without eye contact, it was impossible, but the threat still lingered. Alastor's back curved again in a taut arch as Vox ground against him. “I just want to make you feel good, baby. Don't you want to feel good?”

“...yes,” Alastor finally whimpered out through thick static, teeth bared viciously, ears flattened as his self-control slowly slipped from his frantic grip. It was easier with his eyes closed. Easier to let go, pretend this was happening in some ephemeral alternate reality, some hedonistic romp in the eternity of a fairy's ring. His body was burning—overheated and searingly aroused—and it was beginning to hurt, hurt enough to make him open to any action that might relieve the throbbing need scorching his flesh. He felt like a raw nerve, fur prickling as flashes of mild electricity swept over him from every point their bodies touched, and the snaps that lit up his cock like a burst of mini fireworks made him cry out.

This was fucking Hell.

“Hmm? So sorry, old pal—didn't quite catch that. Come again?” And again and again and again... Vox huffed silent laughter.

Alastor snarled and wrapped his legs around his tormentor, hooves locking into the small of his back with a vicious tug and rock of his hips. Scarlet claws clattered on Vox's head and yanked him down. “I said,” he growled, voice strained and inhuman, “yes, I want you to fuck me! So stop playing around and give it to me!”

Vox glitched. Hard.

“F-f-final-luh-luh-ly,” he stuttered out. The auditory tweaks undermined a great deal of his victorious arrogance. “Wh-ere'zz the l-lube?” It had been in pocket of the pants Alastor shredded.

The bottle was snapped into existence above Vox's head and bounced off of it. “Asshole.” He coated his dick with the slick fluid, sloppy in his eagerness. Alastor hadn't released his powerful hold; Vox didn't have a lot of room in which to work, but absolutely everything below the waist being slathered with lube was a feature, not a bug. Alastor's hips kicked and the frictionless glide of his heated cock against Vox's smooth synthetic skin made him fall back with a trembling moan.

“Yeah, I got you, pretty baby.” Snaps of electricity popped off his antenna in excitement as Vox lifted Alastor’s hips for better alignment and watched as he sank silkily into the crushing heat of his body with a helpless groan. He wanted to pause, just like this—Alastor clinging to him with razor-edged claws, back arched and eyes closed, muscles flickering as they processed the heavy sensation of Vox inside of him. Later. Later, when his balls weren’t a darker blue than usual, achy and kicking up a fuss about it. He thrust in deeper until he felt fur tickling said balls, wanting more, more, more... “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Alastor made a noise that was half-cornered animal and half-porno star, and if Vox could have gotten any harder, his dick would be solid diamond at this point. As it was, a significant number of background programs were doing their damnedness to keep him from coming almost immediately at the luscious sound, the strain causing his internal fans to run faster.

“Isn’t this better, huh? Better than fighting all the time?” Vox’s voice was pitchy, uneven, but he was incapable of shutting up. Each juddering thrust sparked another wave of static electricity to radiate from him. “You like my cock, sweetheart? You’re so tight, ngh…! Fuck, I was your first, wasn’t I? Took your virginity, made you my little slut, pumped you full of my come… Hnggg, oh god, oh fuck…

Alastor’s head was tipped back, eyes still pinched shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to draw fresh streams of blood as he tried to stifle the animal grunts and vulgar moans his throat kept trying to produce. It wasn’t working, but the pain grounded him, helped him focus on the friction building in his gut instead of Vox’s compulsively running mouth and its torrent of extremely questionable dirty talk.

Suddenly the atrocious dialogue in all of Angel’s films made sense.
Ugh.
If only there was a way to shut him up...
Wait. There should be a mute button somewhere.

Alastor pawed at the edge of his screen, searching for the small button blindly while also being bounced into the ground as he was enthusiastically fucked. A few times he had to pause in his hunt to clutch at the frame of Vox's face, thighs flexing as he bucked involuntarily, but eventually he found a series of buttons and began to press them all.

Vox seemed to glitch a few more times as Alastor tested the buttons. “What are you do—?” His mouth kept moving but no sound came out. He frowned, then rolled his eyes...but didn't switch his audio back on.

Good.

With that resolved, Alastor went about fixing the rest of the situation to better suit his own preferences. He dropped his hooves from Vox's back into the soft earth for more leverage and twisted in an inhuman manner, shadows wending from the shade of ancient trees to pull as he pushed, and without losing a single beat in the rhythm of their thrusting, flipped the other demon onto his back and shoved him back into the dirt with a superior little smirk.

“This,” he punctuated his words by grinding down roughly, head and ears falling back, “is your proper place, mmmmmmy dear—beneath me.” Slivers of red showed under thick lashes as he cracked his eyes enough to see the response to this declaration. “Being used to entertain your betters—ah! Nothing more than—than a toy...” His taunts melted into gasping little moans.

Vox tried to whine pitifully. Shit, that was hot. Mind-meltingly hot. He tried to thrust up, movement thwarted by tentacles, feeling the tension build in his core as he watched Alastor rake his hands through his hair, clutch his antlers, long line of his throat exposed. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck... The way he was riding him, wanton and thoughtless—the way he rolled his hips sinuously as he chased his pleasure...

“Ah! Ah, ah, ah!” Alastor quivered, toes curling as he felt the explosive burst of heat inside of him. It was unexpectedly, curiously arousing, this sloppy wet proof of his little buck's satisfaction squelching obscenely as he started to unravel, motions choppy and erratic. He bowed down over Vox's body, pinned his ears and began to feverishly rut against him, sliding in the excess lube until orgasm hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

They lay together in a sodden, panting pile for a long while before Alastor sat back up with a look of determination. He smacked Vox in the screen a few times until large digital eyes reappeared, though lacking their usual high definition clarity. His mouth moved—he'd forgotten he was silenced. The icon in the corner vanished as he unmuted himself

“Don't bother speaking, darling.” Alastor loomed over him with a deranged leer, yellow fangs and radio dial eyes, bones crackling. “I'd save my energy if I were you—you still have a few more hours to go, after all.”

Vox whimpered.

Chapter Text

“Al.”

“Babe.”

“Baby.”

Alastor finally flicked his ears in lazy acknowledgment and felt Vox heave a deep sigh. A cyan clawed hand was drifting up and down his back, occasionally scratching at the base of his skull, and sitting in his lap and leaning against his chest like this, he could feel/hear faint vibration of his electrical components doing whatever it was that they did.

He was tired and sore, but satiated…at least for a few hours, anyway. It was good to relax here, warm and curled up with his pretty spike buck still hilted in his ass, unmoving but satisfyingly heavy and full inside of him. It soothed some dim animal instinct that needed—that craved—continued intimacy even though they had mated so many times in so many ways that his body ached pleasantly.

“Al, it pains me to say this and trust me, I don’t like it either, but I gotta go.”

“Hmmm?” His legs tightened around his hips.

Vox groaned, a throaty sound that felt like a purr rumbling under Alastor’s hands. He threaded his fingers through the tangled mess of his hair, light scrape of claws on his scalp causing golden bubbles to fizz down his spine. “Oh, no, no. Don’t make this harder, sweetheart. I have to leave.”

Some comprehension started to filter into Alastor’s fuzzy mind. His companion seemed to want to go somewhere else…? But that made no sense. Everything they needed was already here in their territory: clean water to drink, tender twigs of young leaves and acorns to eat; small prey to hunt; trails to run; soft beds of matted grass; each other. There was no reason to leave.

But then, he’d already noted that his buck seemed a little slow on the uptake sometimes. Silly thing.

Alastor rubbed his cheek on a corner of his screen, scent-marking like a cat. “No,” he said simply. “Stay. Rest.”

“Baby, I can’t.” Vox groaned again. “You drained me down to nothing. I either need more food and sleep, or I need to plug in for a while. Hell, you probably need more food, too.”

Drained… Yes, that made sense, what with the amount of come dribbling out his still-stuffed tailhole and the savage-sweet wracking pain he’d felt himself when his body wrenched itself in dry orgasms. Alastor snickered and rolled his hips, though. “Plugged in already.”

“Fffffffuh-uck!” There was an undercurrent of misery in his voice now. “Yeah, and I fucking love—” A glitch distorted his words. “…sitting on my joystick, but I won’t be any good to you if I pass out.” Vox started to gently pry Alastor off, though his face flickered unsteadily at the way he pouted and whined at the loss of contact.

“You’re killing me here, Al.” Vox leaned forward to lower Alastor onto his back, but then a pink tongue slipped out to lick the smooth surface of his dimmer-than-usual screen. “Oh my god, stop being cute right now, please—I can't take it.” His eyes were oddly soft at he gazed down on Alastor, who studied him for a moment, then reluctantly relaxed into the ground. He must actually be tired to look like that.

Alastor whimpered as Vox pulled free from his body and stood over him, still staring, and he felt empty and oddly hollow. His dick gave a painful twitch at the feeling of the gush of come that flowed out, confusing and disgusting and arousing all at once. He managed to stagger to his feet, swaying but upright. “Wait,” he told him, then dug his hooves into the soil to kick up another scrape. Oh, he was tired. More than he'd realized.

He pointed at the shallow trench he'd made. The rational part of his mind had some questions about this entire course of action, but that part was a whisper compared to the roar of rut. “Piss,” he told Vox.

Digital eyebrows flew upward. “...sorry, what?”

Such a stupid... Alastor sighed in exasperation. Handsome buck, strong buck, it was a pity he was also dumber than a box of hammers. “Piss,” he said again, wondering how he could not understand a single word command. “Here.” He pointed at the scrape again.

“Is this some kind of deer thing?” Vox tilted his head in mild confusion, though this was hardly any weirder than some of the other things Alastor had said over the course of the day. “This is some kind of deer thing. Right. Okay. Why the fuck not?”

“My territory.” Alastor gestured broadly at the woods surrounding them, watching Vox with a curious intensity. “Piss. Mark. Our territory.”

“Uh—? Oh!” His screen brightened for a second. “You want to share your territory? Are you sure?”

Alastor stamped impatiently, insisting, “Ours! You'll come back to here. Our territory—you'll come back.”

“Oooooh, okay, I think I get what you're driving at. Baby, of course I'll come back, but if your fucked up deer brain needs me to piss in your, uh, thing there, to get you to believe it, fine.” Vox shrugged and stepped up to do his due diligence in assuaging Alastor's animal hindbrain.

Urine splattered into the dirt, and the pungent scent filling Alastor's nostrils caused his lips to curl back and mouth to water. The scent of a strong, healthy mature male, reeking of sex and ozone and sweat, tired and...pleased? Was that it? Probably. And that salty liquid would taste so good...

Alastor caught himself licking his lips and shook the thought from his head.

“Heh! Those deer instincts make you a kinky little fuck, huh?” Vox laughed, apparently not repelled or offended by whatever he'd seen on Alastor's face as he'd watched, though he felt himself flush with shame nevertheless. “Oh, now don't be shy, sweetheart—there's nothing to be ashamed of if you're into a little piss-play.”

“No.” Alastor scrunched his nose up.

Vox laughed again, then wrapped his large hands around Alastor's head to hold him still as he pressed prickly electronic kisses to his forehead. “Okay. Whatever you say. But I really gotta run.” He flashed a battery icon into the corner of his screen, a sliver of red lighting the otherwise empty symbol, then kissed him again. “I'll come back. Promise.”

Alastor snorted and flipped his tail, faking indifference. “As you like.” It was easy to not care when rut wasn't clawing him raw with need, when fresh come was still slicking his thighs.

Vox hummed in smug amusement. “Uh-huh. See you later, Al.” A blue flicker zipped away.

Alastor stared after the ball lightning-like glow, ears pricking to follow the hum-crackle of live electricity, staying still until he was sure Vox was clear of their forest.

Alastor took another deep whiff of the base, primal reek of urine and semen, then added his own piss to the scrape.

Theirs.

He was certain he'd have some significant regrets later. Currently, though, he felt nothing other than achy, tired, and warm with satisfaction, his head fogged with the euphoric endorphin rush of having obeyed the hormonal drive to breed, to mate. He was dizzy with it.

It might be good to get cleaned up. It might be good to drink some clean, cold water. It might be good to run down some unfortunate creature and devour it whole.

But first, it was good to lie on the ground, still warm from their body heat, and sleep for a while.