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Seat On The Throne

Summary:

Vox doesn't like to be ignored

Notes:

Seemed like a waste to have Alastor tied up all nice and pretty for nothing, so I wrote a little something 😉

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:


 

After kicking Val out of his room for that little comment and taking a long, luxuriously hot shower in his ensuite, Vox leaned against his desk, towel around his waist and whiskey in his hand, as he considered his latest acquisition.

Sitting, tied to the chair just as he'd left him, was Alastor. He was by the windows, staring out into the Entertainment District with an an eerie calm that unsettled Vox in a way he couldn't quite articulate.

His ears were straight, like usual, and hadn't twisted around to follow the steps of Vox's approach. His body was still, without a single shift of discomfort or test of the bindings. And his eyes had a glazed sheen that he recognized from years ago, when Alastor got lost in thought, but now had a new haziness akin to frosted glass. 

Vox was suddenly struck with the urge to hit Alastor. To shake him from his daze or smack the smile off his face or grab a fistful of that thick hair and yank. Anything to bring that piercing sharpness back to Alastor's eyes.

Instead, he took another sip of his whiskey and let the smokey warmth soothe his itching hands.

He looked over Alastor again, taking in the way the blue neon bled across his body and mixed with the red to turn his features purple and bruised. The bags under his eyes were like smeared charcoal, and his shoulders had the faint curve of exhaustion.

Vox took another step, certain now that he was well within Alastor's peripherals, but he didn't react.

"So," he began, "I found some old video files the other day. Some of your older shit from the 80's. Pretty awful stuff, I gotta say. Your little segment on liver recipes was boring as fuck. And you were clearly running out of interesting ways to describe your disembowelings."

He spoke slowly, making sure each word dug into the skin like a knife in the back.

But Alastor said nothing. Even the ambient radio frequency he perpetually put out was steady, unwavering. Like Vox hadn't said anything at all.

Like Vox wasn't even in the room.

He moved again, this time planting himself firmly between Alastor's gaze and the expense of Pentagram City below. Yet Alastor's eyes didn't so much dilate from the shadow Vox cast upon him.

Vox held the glass out in front of Alastor's face and rattled the ice.

"Sure you don't want some? Might help take the edge off, numb the pain."

Vox reached out and traced the path of that festering wound lying underneath his coat.

"Physically, I mean, I don't think I have anything to help with the shame of your pathetic loss," he sneered.

Alastor didn't reply.

Didn't even blink.

Vox scowled, furious to his core that even when a captive, even when bound and gagged by his greatest enemy, Alastor was so delusionally prideful that he still held on to that insufferable pretention. 

He stepped forward, and Alastor didn't move.

He leaned in, and Alastor didn't speak.

He climbed up, and Alastor didn't blink.

And even as he settled down into Alastor's bony lap, the other man didn't react.

Vox swirled his whiskey, appreciating the look of his silhouette eclipsing Alastor's face before taking another sip. He tugged Alastor's muzzle down to reveal his perpetual grin. And with just a few cables, Vox pried that jaw open enough for him to press his mouth to Alastor's and feed the whiskey to him.

Alastor jerked underneath him the instant their lips touched. He flinched back, away from Vox, but was only able to retreat so far while in the chair. Vox closed the scant distance Alastor had made and sealed the gap. He slipped his tongue into that deadly maw and forced every last drop down Alastor's throat.

He sat back, licking his lips, and smirked down at an Alastor who now glared at him with twin coals of fiery rage.

"Want another sip?"

Alastor snapped his teeth shut, quick as a bear trap, and sliced through the cables. He spat a few errant strips out and glared at Vox.

"I'm not hearing a no," Vox teased, holding up the drink to show that there was still some left.

Alastor didn't reply, so Vox made a show of taking a nice big sip before leaning back in.

He paused, for just a moment, waiting for Alastor to say no, expecting him to snarl something out that was surgically personal. But nothing came, so Vox followed through on his threat and kissed the last bit of whiskey past Alastor's lips.

A bright flash of pain.

Vox rocked back, his tongue stinging from Alastor's teeth, and watched as Alastor licked the blood off his lips but refused to so much as look at the man had supplied it. 

He tossed his empty glass aside so he could grab Alastor by both ears and pull. Alastor tried to duck away and while he managed to mostly swallow down his pained hiss, Vox was able to draw it out properly when he curled his fists and pierced the thin membrane of Alastor's conch with his claws

Vox laughed as Alastor's ears twitched erratically under his firm grip. Alastor huffed, like an enraged bull, and tried to buck Vox off, but with the tight binding he couldn't get enough power through his hips to do much more than rock Vox in his lap.

And it was while Vox was shifting his hips to keep his balance on those uncomfortably boney legs that he felt something.

Something familiar to him, but never in association with Alastor.

"Ohhh, what's this? So the Ice Man himself is still only a man after all?" Vox jeered as he rocked himself back and forth on the firm bulge underneath his rear.

Alastor's jaw was locked shut but his eyes flared with a fiery indignation. 

"So, you actually get off on pain or am I just special?" 

The radio waves around them curdled in on themselves, like an auditory cringe, and Vox laughed as he grinded against Alastor's growing dick. 

"Let's see what the Radio Demon is packing, shall we?"

Vox sat back just enough to get his hands on Alastor's belt. Once that was undone, he unbuttoned those old fashioned trousers and reached down into cotton boxers to grab a handful of venison.

And, well, Vox wasn't sure what he was expecting or whether or not to be disappointed, but he was struck by how normal Alastor's cock was.

It wasn't especially deer like (though, if pressed, he honestly didn't know what that would mean) and wasn't exactly tiny enough to make fun of. And, sure, it wasn't as big as Val's cock, but it was drool worthy in it's own way; thick and heavy and curved ever so slightly to the left. 

For a few seconds, he just looked at it. Taking in that this was Alastor's dick he was seeing. Alastor's dick that was dribbling precum from the tip. Alastor's dick that stood there, engorged and ready for the taking.

Vox reached out and grasped it firmly, giving it a slow stroke. He came up the shaft and dug his thumb just underneath the glans. Alastor winced, a sharp inhale between clenched teeth, so Vox did it again, harder, just to watch Alastor squirm under his hand.

Then he dragged his forefinger across the weeping slit, gathering a glob of precum that he brought to his lips for a taste. The heady musk of Alastor coated his tongue and lingered as Vox continued to suckle on his finger.

Now dripping with spit, Vox reached down between his legs and back towards his rim. His muscles, still loose from the hot shower, accepted the intrusion readily, and he was up to two fingers in no time.

And while the smarter choice would be to move up to three, Vox was too impatient to wait. He pulled out his fingers with a groan and reached down to firmly grasp Alastor's cock. He felt the veins pulse against his palm as he smeared Alastor's precum across his shaft.

Then he got up on his knees, directly over that proud erection, and glanced at Alastor to see what kind of expression he was making. Eager? Horny? Disgusted? Excited?

Alastor stared back at Vox with flat eyes and a rictus grin.

Vox stared back, unsure if Alastor's silence was permission or some kind of fucked up reverse psychology or if he genuinely just didn't care, but Vox couldn't find it in him to give a single shit anymore. Alastor could take his mind games and shove it while Vox could take his fat cock and shove it somewhere useful.

So that's exactly what he did. He reached down and lined Alastor up before carefully sinking down onto that throbbing length.

Alastor winced as his cockhead was squeezed through Vox's rim, and he bit into his lip in a pitiful attempt to keep composure as Vox continued his slow descent.

The initial stretch burned as it slid in but Vox didn't stop. After all, it only made sense for his body to ache just as much as his heart when it came to this piece of shit.

Once he was finally seated to the hilt, Vox took a moment to roll his hips and familiarize himself with the stretch, the weight, the fullness that came with taking cock.

Bracing his weight onto the armrests, Vox lifted himself back up, slow and languid. His breath shook as Alastor's dick dragged across his inner walls, and he paused, Alastor's cockhead stretching his rim with the most delicious sting, before slamming back down. 

Alastor jerked beneath him, but the cords tightly binding his legs and hips kept him from thrusting up into Vox. He smirked down at Alastor, feeling a thrill of power as he watched his prisoner shake beneath him.

He lifted himself back up and sank back down, increasing his pace until he was practically bouncing in Alastor's lap. Faster and faster, he went until his thighs started to tremble and his legs gave out beneath him.

Vox took a moment to catch his breath and circled his hips, grinding down onto Alastor as he clenched around his length. Alastor winced under the squeeze, and Vox smirked as he felt the shift of hips beneath him from Alastor trying, in vain, to buck up into his tight heat.

"Yeah, that's right. You can act all cold and detached all you want, Al, but your body tells the truth, doesn't it?" Vox sneered as he grinded down in tight little circles.

After his rest, Vox started fucking himself in earnest once again. He wrapped one hand around his leaking cock and paired his quick bounces with long, slow pulls along his shaft. He grabbed Alastor's shoulder and dug his claws in for balance as he worked to bring himself off.

"You know, I think I could get used to you like this." Vox panted between toe-curling thrusts. "Quiet. Well behaved. Beneath me."

He picked up the pace, using Alastor's curved dick to ram that fat cockhead directly into his prostate over and over and over. Each hit send a tiny burst of pleasure throughout his entire body, from finger to toe, while his gut started to coil, tighter and tighter, with every pass.

Hazy with arousal, Vox looked down at Alastor to see if he was as close as Vox felt. Only to see Alastor with his unfocused eyes canted up to the ceiling. 

As if he wasn't getting the fucking ride of his life.

As if Vox wasn't even worth acknowledging.

He snatched Alastor's ears together in one hand and sent several thousand volts straight into that fucker's skull.

Alastor's teeth clenched, creaking under the strain of his jaw, and his body gave one heaving jerk that dug the cables deep into his flesh. His wound spurted with a fresh wave of blood that seeped through his shirt in a sanguine bloom.

The cock nestled inside him came with a suddenness that seemed explosive, painful. Alastor's release flooded Vox and was fucked deeper into him with the quick, shallow thrusts of Alastor's convulsing body, which continued to spasm under Vox like massive vibrator. It sent Vox over the edge with a satisfied moan. Each pulse of his cum splattered across Alastor 's jacket like a monochromatic Jackson Pollock, and when he was finished, he wiped off the excess dribbles from his tip to complete the masterpiece. 

And there, seated on his sullied throne, Vox took a moment to relax and catch his breath and admire the horrifically vicious gaze now fixated entirely on Vox.

As it should be.

After a few minutes, Vox carefully pulled himself off with a sigh and wrapped his towel back around himself, even though any semblance of modesty between them was long gone by this point. He looked over at Alastor and took in his soft dick, lying limp against his pant leg and glistening with cum, and decided to leave it for later.

Before he left, Vox buried his hand in Alastor's singed hair and ruffled it further. Alastor shook his hand off with an especially feral growl and murderous look.

Vox smiled at the response.

"Good to have you back, Alastor."

 

 


 

Notes:

While I am *very* happy that canon does not have Vox assault Alastor, this kept floating around in my mind as a "what if". So here we are.
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My genuine hope for these two (if not by the end of season 2, then by the end of the series) is for them to be friends again. Ideally, as some kind of QPR, but I'd be so happy if they could get drinks and make sarcastic comments on the sidelines.

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