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The Contract	By : Turkaholic Category: -Misc Cartoons > Slash - Male/Male Views: 262 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss. I do not make any money from this story

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
Note: Can I just say before you read...
THIS CHAPTER DROVE ME CRAZY
I've spent over a week editing, cutting, fiddling and bashing my head against the desk. It's now come to the point where I'm just going to publish it and maybe edit some stuff later.
*Please* let me know what you think. I'm really nervous about this one. I hope it was worth the wait.
(Also I was tempted to name this chapter 'Turn the TV On', but I couldn't bring myself to do it xD)

Chapter 15

Alastor blinked down as he thudded into Vox’s lap. It had happened so fast that he hadn’t yet had the chance to hide the look of wide-eyed surprise from being flung across the office. Vox’s knee had slid between his as he moved, and Alastor found himself suddenly sitting with a leg either side of the chair, the heels of his boots grazing the floor as he straddled the Television Demon’s waist. The lopsided ears crept just slightly back towards their usual position atop his head.
He snapped his wrist out of Vox’s grip sharply and reversed it, snatching at the dark blue cuff instead. His sharp fingers dug into the fabric in reprisal, and Alastor watched as the frustration on Vox’s face convulsed into a wince.
“I’m hardly the expert,” He hissed venomously, “but might I suggest that your seduction technique could use some work?”
To Alastor’s surprise, Vox’s wince tilted up into a grim smirk. The Television Demon slid his free hand to the small of the redhead’s back and pulled him forwards, locking their hips together tightly. Alastor’s fingertips dug in sharply and his ear twitched at the unexpected contact.
“Heh… it worked on you didn’t it?” Grunted Vox, the triumphant tone of his voice smothered slightly by the pain. Alastor narrowed his eyes and leaned down towards the glowing screen threateningly. “Why else would you even be here?”
“This is purely business, Vox.” pressed the redhead, his tone slightly higher than usual, though still hoarse. “I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference. You never could separate your brain from your other body parts.” Vox’s hand was moving again, trailing back around to Alastor’s chest, heading slowly, savouringly down to his hip. The Radio Demon tensed as the fingers made their way downwards. Being touched this way was still… unsettling.
“Oh yeah? Just business?” Vox replied in a deeply mocking tone. He wrestled his hand out of Alastor’s grip. The sudden movement sent the chair skidding across the floor until it hit the desk with a thud, the heels of the other demon’s boots dragging lightly along the tiles.
“Exactly.”
Vox leaned up, smirking widely now, teeth on display. “Then why the fuck,” he whispered into the Radio Demon’s face, “is that hand there?”
Alastor blinked and froze, startled at the sentence. Vox looked pointedly down at his chest with a look of intense smugness, and very slowly, very reluctantly, Alastor followed his gaze.
Almost as if viewing it from a distance Alastor recognised his own black and red hand, the fingers wrapped tightly into Vox’s striped tank top, the cane trapped between his extended palm and Vox’s chest. He had no memory of placing it there. What was he doing?
The sound of rending cloth tore through the quiet office. Vox let out a grunt of pain and sideswiped Alastor’s arm away furiously. The cane clattered out of his hand and skidded across the room.
“That’s why.”
“Agh you piece of shit!”
Vox’s tank top was ruined, four deep gashes had torn straight through both layers of clothing and a thin trickle of cyan began bleeding into the red. Vox placed a palm to his chest and glared up into Alastor’s face. There was a wicked grin there, offset strangely by the still lopsided ears.
“How many of my suits are you gonna ruin, you prick?” He snarled, watching in fury as Alastor raised his hand up to the light, examining the wet blue blood on his fingertips.
“Hmm… preferably all of them.” the other demon replied, feeling relief that the distraction had worked. He felt Vox’s grip on his hip tighten in anger and his lip twitched in honest amusement. He continued to stare at his fingers as he spoke, feeling Vox’s glare burning into him. “The contract never mentioned clothing, I believe?”
Vox’s face filled with a mingled look of rage and desire, staring up at the nonchalant expression of the demon in his lap. He could feel the angry sting of the fresh scratches on his chest, and the tantalising warmth of Alastor’s hips pressed hard against his. Beyond it all there was the same sense of dizzying bewilderment he’d experienced once before: Al had come back. After over a week of believing he’d never lay hands on the Radio Demon again, here he was sitting in his actual lap, letting Vox touch him. The idea made him feel like every inch of him was on fire.
Vox opened his mouth to retaliate, but found that lust had driven words and even the pain from his mind. Instead he wrapped both arms around Alastor’s back, pulled him roughly down towards him, buried his screen as close to the other demon’s neck as he could and slid his tongue out, running it needily against soft, salty skin.
The Radio Demon’s eyes widened, the grin turning into a fixed look of panic at the sudden change in dynamic, hands frozen in place. He’d felt some level of self control returning to him arguing with the idiot, as practised at it as he was. This was new, unexpected, and extremely bizarre.
And yet... Vox’s tongue was doing something peculiar. He heard the Television Demon let out a moan of enjoyment, the vibrations of it humming against his neck. Vox’s hips were moving slightly against his, the long fingers curled into his back, pricking the skin through his shirt. Alastor’s eyes lidded slowly, reluctantly. He reached past Vox’s buried head and slowly gripped the leather headrest with an absent half-sneer, ears easing slightly upwards with every move of Vox’s hips.
The Television Demon was almost too lost in what he was doing to register Alastor’s change in demeanour, relishing the long-wanted feel of the Radio Demon’s flesh against his; the taste of his skin, but he did feel a small jolt of victory as Alastor’s hips began to react to his movements, and he felt the head tilt reluctantly to make room for Vox’s screen. He pressed his face greedily in to the welcoming space and smiled against the hot skin, listening carefully for the moment Alastor’s breathing hitched. It happened faster than Vox had expected. There was a soft popping sound as the redhead’s claws pierced the leather headrest.
The Television Demon resisted the overwhelming urge to laugh, or make a snide comment. He’d learned from the first time that this was a sure-fire way to turn the asshole back into an ice cube, and the last thing he wanted now was for Al to get up and leave him like this. He didn’t know if he could stand it. He ran his hands up Alastor’s back, feeling the skin twitching at his touch through the shirt and tugged at the inside of the jacket, forcing it down over the redhead’s shoulders.
Alastor tensed. His hips stopped moving; Vox heard him hold his breath. Thinking quickly, Vox opened his mouth and bit down on the Radio Demon’s neck. Not enough to break the skin, but enough hopefully to distract the other demon from pulling away.
It was a gamble. He braced himself for the response: he had no idea if the ploy would work, or just throw Alastor into a full-blown psychopathic rage.
It was with a jolt of absolute mind-numbing shock that he heard the faintest shadow of the thing that had haunted him for over a week: Alastor let out a small, tightly suppressed groan under his breath. One of the Radio Demon’s hands slid away from the headrest and dug itself into Vox’s shoulder painfully tight. Vox felt his own hips move of their own accord at the noise, his eyes squeezing shut, feeling a bizarre tingling inside his head: Al liked it. The twisted fuck actually liked it. He bit down harder and ripped the jacket downwards quickly so that it bunched around Alastor’s elbows.
Alastor was panicking a little to hold on himself, feeling Vox’s sharp teeth digging into his skin and finding shockingly that it had registered as pleasure in his head. An internal battle was taking place silently between the lifelong struggle for control and the need to lose himself in something other than the spiralling madness; but the half-acknowledged reason he’d been drawn here was for this, as much as he hated it: Protected by terms in a contract, safe to let go, able just for the briefest moment to get lost in something other than that crushing feeling that had been building up since he’d sent Husk out to find Corah.
A week or so ago, he was entirely sure he would have simply swallowed it back; let the madness and the rage out in other ways and moved on, but this ridiculous flat-faced idiot had opened a door now; a door that the Radio Demon had found impossible to close, as hard as he’d tried. He found himself moving with Vox against his better judgement, vaguely aware that hands were now trailing up his chest, fumbling at the buttons on his shirt. He was gritting his teeth, trying not to respond to the burning enjoyment of Vox’s teeth in his skin. He could feel the stupid arrogant smirk, the fizzing static against his neck. He closed his eyes and clenched his clawed fingers into Vox’s shoulder in retaliation.
“Fuck.” Hissed Vox against his neck, but didn’t back off to argue. He was half in pain, half in pleasure as he felt Alastor moving down against him; slightly dizzy at the idea that there were no hands on the redhead’s hips to guide him into it this time; the unexpected reaction was simply in response to Vox’s mouth. He felt his teeth finally break skin, red blood dripping over the blue tongue, turning black in the dim light of the office. Alastor growled.
Vox’s fingers finally managed the last button of the other demon’s shirt, as distracted as he was by the intoxicating taste of salt and iron; by the growl reverberating around his chest. Reluctantly he finally lost contact with Alastor’s neck, sat back in the chair, and looked up into the Radio Demon’s face, a smear of blood smudged across his screen and a lustful, lidded smirk on his face.
Alastor’s eyes snapped back open as he felt Vox move backwards and he stared down at the glowing screen with a tight lipped smiling glare. His eye twitched in annoyance at the smug look on the Television Demon’s face and he curled his fingers deeper into the already bleeding shoulder with a snarl.
Vox hissed and glared back, licking the blood from his lips.
“Oh for the love of - I am not a fucking scratch post, you sadistic bastard!” He panted angrily. Alastor’s eyes narrowed and he leaned down as Vox absently slid the open shirt over his shoulders.
“Beg to differ, my dear Vox.” Alastor replied acidly, twisting his fingers in the wound. “It’s clearly the only thing you’re useful for these days.”
There was a pause, both demons panting, glaring deeply into each other. Very slowly, one of Vox’s hands slid back down from Alastor’s collar, fingers spread greedily as they dragged over finally exposed skin and fur. He wanted so desperately to look, to see the result of what his hands had been doing, but he maintained eye contact and felt his way downwards. The part of his brain that wasn’t focused on matching Alastor’s expression was given over entirely to enjoying the feeling of his body under his fingers, relishing the thing that he had wanted for so unbearably long. He sensed his way down to Alastor’s stomach, then lower to the waistband of his pants. Alastor’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his ears flattening as Vox finally slid a hand lower, tracing his fingertips briefly over the obvious bulge. One of Alastor’s eyes lidded, the face darkening as Vox’s lifted into a painful sneer.
“Better make that two things. Or is this ‘just business’, too?”
“...Shut your stupid, flat face.” The redhead managed, horribly aware how empty the words sounded.
Vox couldn’t help but snort, leaning back as he trailed his hand back up to the waistband and slid inside. “Oh yeah. Great comeback, Al.”
And then he swallowed, the sneer slipping a little.
He’d done it again: called Alastor by a nickname that had been out of use for a decade. He cursed inwardly and wrapped his fingers around the Radio Demon’s member.
As expected, Alastor refused to close his eyes, but both to Vox’s giddy surprise and immense satisfaction, the redhead seemed to be having more trouble than last time maintaining that pompous air of indifference. The yellow, pointed teeth had drawn out over his lower lip, an eyebrow was twitching furiously, and Vox could feel the legs either side of him tightening to the outside of the chair in his ridiculous attempt not to show any satisfaction. Vox couldn’t help but close his eyes, losing himself for a moment in the sound of the slowly increasing rate of Alastor’s breath. When he opened them again a moment later, he blinked in amazement.
Finally – fucking finally – the redhead seemed to have given up the fight. His eyes had fluttered shut. He was frowning into the sensation, barely a trace of the normal, stupid shit-eating grin still lingering around his lips. His ears were twitching incessantly atop his head as Vox’s hand slid up and down, still a little uneven, but much less so than when the Television Demon had first noticed it. He was starting to pant, his head beginning to tilt just slightly to the side as the angry red bite on his neck dappled the exposed fur of his chest with dark blood. Vox drank the scene in: Every inch of him seemed to be covered in thin white scars, with one particularly pinkish slash curving diagonally across his chest and abdomen. Vox held his breath, his cock twitching angrily against the confines of his pants. He wanted to look at this all night; stamp it into his memory. Alastor was…
“...fucking beautiful.” he breathed.
The spell broke immediately. Alastor’s eyes snapped wide open again, slightly alarmed, a little confused, but fiery red in the dark room.
“What was that?” he said sharply. Vox blinked away the look of awe in a panic and glared instead.
“Nothing.” he growled back loudly, “I said you’re a prick.” He could see the blue glow of his own face dim a little as it reflected off the other demon’s skin.
Alastor eyed him suspiciously. Vox wasn’t sure how much of what he’d said had actually been heard. “Well keep your fatuous opinions to yourself.”
Furious with both himself and the other demon, Vox let go of Alastor’s member. The Radio Demon ignored the urge to follow the hand, glaring down again as Vox knocked his hand away from his shoulder at last, the blood flowing freely from the wound.
The Television demon gritted his teeth at the pain, taking another look down at his tattered clothes; at the new scratches and bloodstains. He wasn’t sure what else he expected from a freak like Al, but if this happened again he’d have to remember to take his clothes off first.
“What are you doing?” growled the redhead witheringly as Vox slid the jacket from his own shoulders. Vox’s eye twitched.
“What, you expect me to do this in an outfit you fucked up?”
Alastor leaned back, biting back a strange new sensation of impatience as Vox undid his bow-tie and peeled the damaged tank top away from the slick skin.
“I assure you, I have no interest in looking at your deplorable naked body.”
Vox shook the remains of the tank top onto the debris-filled floor. He glared bitterly up into the red eyes.
“Yeah? Well maybe next time you’ll keep your fucking ratty claws off my clothes.”
Alastor leaned forwards again, placing his hands on the arm rests either side of Vox’s waist. He tried to muster an intimidating smile.
“Bold of you to assume there will be a next time, Vox.”
Vox lowered his voice to a gravelly growl and rolled his eyes as he worked at his own shirt buttons. “Oh please. Why can’t you just admit you’re into it?”
The Radio Demon opened his mouth for a vicious reprisal, but suddenly blinked as a pair of blue tipped fingers came into view, hovering just in front of his mouth. A barely contained smirk spread across Vox’s face as he finally slid the shirt from his shoulder, exposing the dark blue skin to warm, still air.
Alastor stared down at the fingers, nonplussed for a moment, then suddenly realised what Vox was silently hinting at. He smiled vindictively and bared his teeth, ears shooting back.
“You must be joking.”
“Oh come on…” He muttered lowly trying to hide the lust-fuelled smirk, “Give me something.”
“The only way those fingers are going in my mouth is if I’m eating you.” he breathed malevolently, pupils contracting. Vox blinked and snatched his fingers away hurriedly, looking alarmed, annoyed, and deeply disappointed.
“You are such a – why can’t you just… fuuuck!” Vox finally groaned in exasperation and took the fingers into his own mouth, working his tongue furiously. He hadn’t expected Alastor to reciprocate the touch – he’d worked out enough now to know that that wasn’t how the bastard operated, but his cock was pressing painfully hard against his pants, brushing maddeningly against the redhead’s groin, and he could feel the impatient need for real contact urging him desperately onwards. He grabbed again at the waistline of Alastor’s pants and dragged them downwards, past his hips until they were tight against Vox’s stomach.
Vox was spurred on by need, but he was anything but stupid. Despite Alastor’s annoyingly volatile front, he had noticed a pattern. He watched the red glowing eyes as he exposed him to the air, and saw the flash of what he had finally worked out – after over a week of reflecting on it - was panic or fear spasm briefly across the snarling face. It was almost satisfying to know that he was starting to understand what made the bastard tick. He returned his grip to Alastor’s cock and began stroking it slowly as he worked his tongue around the fingers in his mouth. The look faded into another deep, concentrating glare. Vox’s expression involuntarily softened just a little.
A few seconds later, the Television Demon extricated the fingers. They shone opalescent and blue in the glare of his face, slick with saliva. He let go of Alastor’s member and slid it up absently to the small of his back. He felt breathless, but leaned up close to the other demon and muttered thickly:
“Remember, Al: Relax.”
Alastor seemed to bite his tongue. Perhaps there was some retort he was holding back. Vox slid his fingers between the splayed legs, his palm brushing the Radio Demon’s groin as he moved. He positioned the two slick fingers underneath him, feeling the heat of Alastor’s skin against his bare, dark blue arm, locked eyes with the pools of red in the half light, and almost teasingly slowly slid them inside. He saw the muscles in Alastor’s neck quiver and tense.
It was easier this time, but not by much. The redhead’s walls still felt incredibly tight around his fingers, and they spasmed intensely as Vox pushed deeper. He watched hungrily as the teeth dug in to the lower lip again, the glare strained as Alastor tried to keep his eyes from closing. Vox could hear the creak of leather as the red clawed fingers dug surreptitiously into the arm rests; hear the chair itself groan as the Radio Demon’s legs tensed either side of him. For once though, he chose not to open his mouth, instead enjoying the effect that Alastor was now clearly trying so hard to hide.
Both of them were all but silent now. Vox could see the chest moving heavily in the blue light, the eyes twitching as he experimentally nudged his fingertips into the hot, quivering muscles, but not once did Alastor close his eyes, or groan, or rock against him. The Television Demon wondered vaguely just how long he could do this before the stoic bastard snapped.
And then Vox stretched his fingers out.
The Radio Demon arched forwards instinctively, eyes finally squeezing shut at the unexpected change. He let out a pant, coming to within an inch of Vox’s face, shoulders hunched tightly. Before the other demon could stop it he found himself leaning into it, resting his forehead against Alastor’s, lidded eyes darting across the sudden expression as if trying to memorise it before it could change back. Vox kept moving, fingers stretching against twitching muscle, desperate to finish the job; to feel those muscles around his own painfully throbbing member. He saw a dark red drip fall from the Radio Demon’s chin, landing hot and wet on his bare and already bloody chest: the idiot had bit his lip again.
It was a moment before Alastor regained his composure, licking the blood from his lip and narrowing his eyes at Vox as if he’d insulted him. Vox sighed silently; resentfully: he’d hoped it would last a little longer. On the other hand, he was becoming more and more confused as this encounter went on by how much more quickly Alastor was reacting to him. Not that he was complaining in the least, it was simply… unexpected.
It seemed an unbearably long age to Vox as he waited for the muscles to finally stop resisting his presence. He recorded vaguely that yet another chair of his was suffering under Alastor’s fingertips. He could hear the leather tearing either side of him, just glad that Al was taking his tension out on the furniture instead of Vox’s already stinging flesh.
Finally, biting his own lip in expectation, unable to hide the lustful smirk, Vox removed his fingers. He watched the resultant shudder vibrate in Alastor’s exposed, scarred stomach. Without waiting, he unbuttoned his own pants and slid them swiftly down, wincing as the ache in his groin intensified, his member finally free and painfully hard. He grabbed Alastor’s jutting hips and pulled him forward, feeling the unexpectedly soft fur against his stomach, lining himself up.
“Al-”
“If you tell me,” came Alastor’s voice from above him, the tone sharp but breathy, “one more time to relax, I’ll-”
Vox groaned and rolled his eyes. “Oh for once would you just shut your fucking face?”
Alastor’s lips slid back to reveal his teeth in anger, but at the same moment Vox tugged his hips downward. The Television Demon felt the briefest moment of infuriating resistance, then the hips relaxed, Alastor conceded to the insistent tugging, and with a hiss of long awaited pleasure, Vox finally felt the other demon slide onto him.
Alastor felt the rush of blood pound through his head as Vox pulled him down; felt the pain as his muscles resisted the twitching member slowly sliding into him.
This whole time, he had been torn between the need for relief, and the angry insistence not to let Vox know it. It was perverse and ironic that that split second decision in an alleyway halfway across town had led him straight here, but any thoughts he might have had about backing out slipped away from him as he felt Vox push deeper. This new position felt different; those strange sensations he remembered from last time even more intense. Disturbingly even the discomfort felt like pouring water over the fire in his head.
His already bared teeth locked tight together, he screwed his eyes shut, unable to resist it even though he knew Vox was watching. The soft sound of splintering glass broke the near silence as his heels dug hard into the tiled floor either side of the chair.
Vox had repressed the memory over the past week, so he had forgotten how intensely tight the redhead had been the first time; how impossibly hot. His eyes glazed over as the ache in his groin grew almost unbearable. His face was screwed up in concentration, desperately trying to control the urge to simply slam the Radio Demon down onto him as he saw the anger on Alastor’s face transform. Tilted forwards, shadowed by the hanging red bangs though it was, the eyes closed and frowning, Vox could actually see pleasure slipping through into that normally vindictive face. A self satisfied half-smirk flickered briefly over his screen. Their hips connected.
Vox continued to pull needfully for a moment, desperate to bury himself as deep inside the other demon as he could, to feel as much of Alastor as he could while he had him here. He let out a low growl of pleasure as he felt the Radio Demon’s own member twitch against his stomach.
“You… have to move.” muttered Vox. Alastor peered an eye open, resentment suddenly flaring up in his slightly bleary eye.
“...And feed that… fat ego?” Alastor forced between his teeth quietly. “Never.”
Vox’s eyes lidded. His hips twitched instinctively. Alastor held back a hiss. There was a pounding sensation already growing in the Radio Demon’s stomach; an almost irresistible urge to rock, to slam himself down into Vox’s lap, to completely let himself go, but as far gone as he was he couldn’t bear to give the other demon that level of satisfaction.
“It’s… the position!” managed Vox. “We both have to. Unless you wanna... fuck on broken glass you twisted freak?”
Alastor stayed silent. He appeared to be thinking, even as his muscles continued to shiver around him. Vox glared up at him, brow knotted in frustration as the other demon stayed resolutely stationary. He didn’t know what to do with himself – his groin felt on fire, his legs were quaking against Alastor’s thighs. He growled, eyes rolling back in his head in desperation and he heard his own voice uttering words he never would have dreamt of saying out loud:
“Shit…” he breathed, “Al… Please. Please just move.”
Vox’s face contorted in shock as he realised what had slipped out. He looked up into the half-shadowed face and saw a distinct glimmer of amusement filter past the glazed eye. Vox braced himself for a mocking reply, or some sadistic refusal.
But something else happened instead.
There was a brief painful pause. Alastor’s member twitched faintly against the blue skin. Vox felt the Radio Demon shift his hips slightly, and very slowly, almost grudgingly, he began to rock down into Vox’s lap.
Vox pushed his head back further into the headrest at the sudden, burning friction and groaned lowly, hands moving back to Alastor’s hips, clutching at them as he battled to dictate the rhythm. He pushed up in time, forcing himself into the other demon as deeply as he could bear, and feeling the hot slick muscles quivering around him as the chair rocked backwards with a crunch against the desk.
Alastor was now slipping steadily with every jolt upwards of the other demon’s hips; every electrified nerve Vox ground himself slowly into. He was trying to maintain some sliver of dominance with his own rhythm, choosing the pace in spite of Vox’s arrogant attempt at control. He could still feel the burn of Vox buried inside him, but he couldn’t ignore the urge to move any longer. He’d suffered enough pain through both of his lifetimes to be able shrug it to the back of his mind.
His hands moved from the shredded armrests and hooked themselves tightly in Vox’s shoulders, using them as leverage as he pushed down insistently, still ignoring Vox’s hands. The change of angle exposed new, sensitive nerves to the other demon’s reach. The ears tilted forwards towards Vox and he bowed his head, the smile drawn tight and painful across his lips. He could feel his fingers starting to shake as they dug into Vox’s shoulder blades, but he was beyond the point of trying to conceal it. He loathed the very idea that Vox was able to see him like this, but tonight – mentally exhausted and spiralling – a deep, half acknowledged part of him… needed it.
Vox growled in agitation. Alastor’s pace was unpracticed, unsteady; far slower than his desperate groin would like, and almost punishingly rough.
“Just let me-”
“You… wanted me to move.” came the immediate retort, thin and hoarse, but still faintly malevolent. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m moving.”
Vox chewed his tongue in desperation and groaned. The look on Alastor’s face was both incensing and incredibly erotic. Vox snatched one hand away and reached for Alastor’s member again, wrapping his hand tight around it and pumping him to the rhythm he was trying to set. Vox was sure Alastor knew what he was trying to do: The redhead’s teeth shone out from behind his lips menacingly, the eyes narrowed, and yet a moment later with a final vicious scratch at Vox’s shoulder, the eyebrow lowered, the glare became taut and Alastor finally conceded to Vox’s desperate attempts to lead the rhythm.
Vox’s eyes rolled in relief as they finally picked up pace. He let go of Alastor’s member and felt a flicker of pleasure when the other demon’s hips gave a minute tilt forwards, seeking the lost contact.
The Radio Demon’s fingers were still locked cruelly into midnight blue flesh as Vox rocked up into him, but Vox was almost used to it now. He was far more interested in relishing every microexpression, every reluctant twitch, every raw, panting breath he could hear Alastor making beyond his own. He was practically watching the bastard melt. With each slam upwards into the other demon’s body, Vox could see the smile twitching lower, the back arching forwards, the ears tilting towards him in the blue glow as if seeking him out. Even the narrowed eyes were beginning to take on a hazy, distant expression. Eventually Alastor had arched so far forwards that they were locked bodily together. Vox could feel hot sticky fur rest against his chest, feel Alastor’s leaking, twitching member grinding against his abdomen with each slam of their hips.
It was Vox’s turn to tense. He was frowning up at that painfully perfect expression, waiting for the annoying, predictable switch to flick in Alastor’s head – the one that would make those eyes snap wide, the hips to stop. And it did. The Radio Demon surveyed the new position and faltered, ears beginning to slip back on his head again.
Vox panicked. The loss of friction felt like torture. His cock was twitching painfully, his fingers digging bruisingly into the suddenly stationary hips. Instinctively he wrapped both arms up around Alastor’s back, almost as though to stop him pulling away. He buried his screen in the other demon’s chest with a needy groan and dragged Alastor down onto his aching groin.
The Radio Demon’s eyes lidded reluctantly. When he’d come here looking for relief, he hadn’t expected this level of physical contact. Last time he’d been here, Vox had been close out of necessity, and almost completely wrapped up in his own pleasure. This time he was naked, Vox was running his fingers over bare skin, and seemed infuriatingly interested in watching him. It was unsettling, and yet – as jarring and uncomfortable as the thought was – it wasn’t entirely... unpleasant.
Vox opened his mouth against Alastor’s chest and groaned again. If there had been words in it, Alastor knew it would have been a plea.
The sound sent an unexpected shudder down the Radio Demon’s back. The red eyes slid shut. Vox made another noise, more furious, more desperate, and jerked his hips up. Alastor’s lip gave a vaguely sinister twitch.
If the redheaded demon had been in a less desperate mental state, he imagined he could have enjoyed sitting there for a while, listening to Vox growing ever more needy, teasing the impatient imbecile into madness; but he was too far gone for that now. Vox dug his own fingers in furiously to Alastor’s back as the stillness continued, grinding himself hard up against the Radio Demon’s insides, sending shocks of fire up the other demon’s spine. He dragged his teeth against the skin, the long blue tongue flicking against the reddening flesh in a desperate attempt to make him move again. Alastor felt his back arch in reluctant pleasure at the sudden onslaught of sensations, the static prickling his skin. He suddenly felt feverish as one of Vox’s hands slid down and tugged angrily at his tail. He couldn’t hold off any longer – the idiot had somehow worked out how to manipulate every nerve in his body all at once.
Every thought in Alastor’s head slowly burned away into fire. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and began slamming himself furiously down against Vox. The last shadow of restraint had crumbled to dust.
Vox was taken off guard at the sudden shift. Alastor was moving again at last, but differently now, less annoyingly reserved. He adjusted as swiftly as he could, latching on to the salty skin gratefully with a loud moan. He was beyond any idea of gloating, too relieved to be put out of his misery; too desperate to keep the bastard moving exactly like this to open his mouth and ruin it. He gripped harder to the tuft of fur at the base of Alastor’s spine and yanked it downwards with every thrust.
Alastor’s hips began to roll instinctively in response, seeking more pressure, pushing Vox’s member brutally against his muscles. Vox’s heart jolted as he realised Alastor’s legs were actually curling away from the floor in pleasure, locking strenuously around his own legs on the chair. Vox’s eyes flickered, rolling in ecstasy behind his closed lids as he groaned. Alastor’s back began to arch away from him.
Vox couldn’t help himself. More than anything he wanted to see Alastor’s face now that he’d given up the stupid facade. He backed away from the angry reddened skin on Alastor’s chest and tilted his head upwards, forcing his eyes open.
What he saw made him lose his breath.
His bleary eyes filled with lust and awe: There was no pretence left. Any doubt that Vox had the first time they’d done this shattered in a second. Alastor’s face was almost painfully intense, his eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open with his teeth bared. He was panting furiously as they moved together, occasionally letting out a very quiet moan. His back was slowly arching away from the chair, his head tilting towards the ceiling so that Vox could see the veins in his neck throbbing. His hands still tore at the pinpricks in Vox’s shoulders and his thighs were shuddering around Vox’s own quaking legs.
He’d thought that the first time with Alastor had been the most insanely perfect experience he’d ever have, but he was wrong. Seeing the cold bastard like this was mind blowing.
The Television Demon lost all self awareness, the vision of Alastor lost in pleasure he was causing seemed to have short circuited his brain. He leaned forwards and buried his face in his chest again, slamming himself even harder up against the Radio Demon’s jerking hips, clawing his back downwards in time, dragging at the twitching tail all at once.
“F-fuck.” He groaned into the fur, frowning; barely aware that he was even speaking. “You have... no idea how... fucking perfect you are, do you?”
Alastor wasn’t even capable of thought any more. He didn’t want to think, that was the point. He had thrown himself into this to escape thinking, and now he was acting on instincts he’d never used before; seeking out sensations he’d never paid even a passing interest in. If he had been thinking, he would have found it all highly confusing and very unsettling, but he was too far gone to even form those kinds of ideas. All he felt was… relief.
The pace was almost impossibly hard now, Vox’s hips were screaming with the effort of arching them up, the chair was hammering into the desk as they moved. Alastor’s short, subdued moans were echoing around the dark room. He was unable and unwilling to concentrate on his usual stoic silence. Vox was grunting with effort, panting against the Radio Demon’s chest, lips latched on hard as he felt the burning begin to grow in his own stomach, partly in response to the sudden noises he’d finally elicited from the other demon. He had just enough of himself left to let go of Alastor’s back. He forced his hand between their twitching stomachs, grabbed Alastor’s slick wet penis, and began stroking it furiously.
The redhead went rigid almost immediately, still forcing himself downwards at a desperate pace, relishing the pain of it as his muscles clenched unbearably tight around Vox. The other demon opened his mouth and groaned furiously into Alastor’s chest as he felt the flesh under his rough moving fingertips begin to quiver.
Vox gritted his teeth one last time and slammed upwards as hard as he could, feeling the burning pleasure in the pit of his stomach spreading urgently. Alastor’s back arched impossibly far, coming dangerously close to pulling both of them backwards. Vox moved his other hand from the tail in a panic and snapped it up to the middle of Alastor’s back, supporting him as he let loose one final, hoarse moan from between suddenly clenched teeth, eyes screwed violently shut. He began to buck wildly against Vox’s lap, and hot sticky warmth splattered hard against the dark blue stomach, continuing to drip thickly down the still pumping fingers.
Vox let out a final gasp and raised his hips physically away from the chair, pushing himself as deep into the other demon as he could as that last, loud moan pushed him over the edge. Without thinking, he pulled Alastor out of the arch and brought him suddenly forwards, crushing them together as he came almost painfully hard against Alastor’s still contracting muscles. His hips bucked upwards frantically for a few seconds more, feeling his own seed dripping down his legs.
He uncurled his fingers slowly from Alastor’s cock as the orgasm subsided at last. The redhead’s entire body was tense, and Vox suddenly grunted as Alastor collapsed entirely on top of him, burying his face in Vox's ruined, bloody shoulder as the vicious claws finally lost their grip and fell loosely to either side of the chair.
The Television Demon's nerves were still humming, his head light. He let out a silent, deeply satisfied sigh and pulled Alastor absently closer, wrapping both hands around the small of his back. He was trying not to think about what would happen when the Radio Demon recovered. He could deal with that inevitable shit show later.
He rested his head up against Alastor's shoulder and breathed him in, listening to the slowly subsiding breaths next to his head.
- 15
- 16
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The Contract