Chapter Text
THEN:
“Oh, I love this song!” Alastor declared, tossing one arm high in the air.
He nearly lost his feet for the second time that night, but Vox caught him round the waist and managed to keep him upright. This was a feat in and of itself, given that the inside of Vox’s head felt like a hot tub filled with boiling syrup. He’d lost count of the number of drinks he’d tossed back. A part of him needled at the back of his brain, telling him it was a bad look to get so wasted publicly, where anyone could see him. He didn’t need a reputation as a loose boozer. He was trying to make an image for himself as a powerhouse of Hell, someone not to be trifled with.
Yet, there he was, drunk out of his mind and dancing with a barefooted Alastor.
His only consolation was that Alastor had to look more ridiculous than him. He still had that stupid veil headband they’d swiped from a giftshop mashed on his head. It fluttered around his hair as he twirled, a laciing of white gauze over his red locks. Chunks of cardboard were also still stuck to the tips of his antlers. Vox had thought about trying to pick them off but he didn’t trust himself not to somehow impale his hand on Alastor’s antlers in the process, and anyway, Alastor didn’t seem to have noticed so he supposed it was fine.
Alastor had also decided, in his infinite, drunk wisdom, that the solution to his balance problem was not trying to find his shoe, but kicking the remaining one off, so he was now tapping his way around the dancefloor with his hooves. That’s how Vox knew he was gone. There was no way Alastor would do such a thing in his right mind. Were Vox in his right mind, he may have suggested they be sensible and look for Alastor’s shoes, or even just buy him a new pair with what remained from his winnings at the roulette table. But Vox wasn’t in his right mind, he was totally drunk on booze and Alastor’s carefree laughter, so he allowed himself to be pulled into more dancing.
At least they weren’t on the main casino floor anymore but in the little reception room adjoining the chapel. Lively music spilled in from the main dancefloor one story up, filling the small room occupied only by Vox, Alastor, and a few individuals passed out on some plastic chairs. Vox snickered into his rumpled sleeve at Alastor’s flushed cheeks and the way his tongue ever so slightly poked out of his mouth as he tried to concentrate on his footwork.
“What song’s that?” Vox asked, sweeping Alastor around in a huge circle.
Alastor allowed himself to be twirled, tipping his head back, his veiled hair flapping behind him like a ribbon. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I like it!”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s our song now,” Vox said, then laughed for no reason. He was full of bubbles, making him feel lighter than air, like he might float away at any moment. “The song of our first dance as a married couple.”
The both of them laughed at that, long and loud. Alastor walked his fingers up Vox’s arm as he caught his breath, tears dotting the corners of his eyes. His grin was wide and genuine, the sight of it warming Vox more than the alcohol pumping through his veins.
“I’ve never married,” Alastor admitted. “Not here or before.”
Vox didn’t have to ask what he meant by before. “Me neither.”
“Really?”
“What? You thought I woulda?”
Alastor shrugged, his clawed fingers now playing with Vox’s bowtie, skimming the edge of his unbuttoned collar. “I suppose it jus’ fit this picture I had in my mind of you. Fancy house, fancy car…Fancy wife.”
Vox snorted. His life on Earth seemed like eons ago instead of decades. It was difficult to conjure the memory of his old face. He’d now spent more time as a demon than he had as a human and this form was beginning to take shape in his mind as his true self.
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “No fancy wife for me. ‘Til now.”
He tried to bop Alastor on the nose but his hand-eye coordination was severely lacking in that moment, and he ended up poking his finger straight into Alastor’s mouth instead. Alastor, in a move of hither to unforeseen kindness, did not bite Vox’s finger off. He just scrunched his nose up and spat Vox’s finger out with a disgusted, “Blegh!”
They danced for a few more minutes, and something about it all had Vox feeling decidedly…sentimental. Alastor’s rumpled clothes and mussed-up hair, his cheeks dotted with spots of red, his eyes heavy-lidded as he blinked blearily at Vox—he’d never been so pretty. Even with the stupid veil in his hair. Vox sighed, the sound coming out gooey to his own ears as he squeezed Alastor’s hand.
“Y’know something, Al?” Vox asked.
Alastor made an inquiring noise, his glassy eyes coming back into focus as he tipped his head to the side and peered at Vox. Vox pulled Alastor closer by the waist until their chests were pressed flush together. Alastor’s eyebrows crept towards his hairline but he didn’t push Vox away.
“If I ever did get married for real,” Vox said, “it’d be to you.”
Alastor tittered a laugh under his breath. “Is that right?”
“Uh huh,” Vox went on, a little zing of electricity shooting up his spine as the puff of Alastor’s breath hit his screen. “I mean, y’know, would it be so bad if we really did do it? We already work so well together. Like butter and bread, or milk and cookies, or-“
“Violence and bloodshed!” Alastor added, perking up.
Vox’s liquor-drowned soup brain took a moment to catch up with the conversation. When he did, he just nodded slowly. “Yeaaahh, sure. What I’m saying is just…You’re the only one I can imagine…being by my side.”
Alastor hummed again, this sound coming out more like a purr, rumbling against Vox’s chest from where they were touching. “What a coincidence. I can only see myself with me too!”
He threw his arms out in a starfish pose, his shadow copying him, but its shady limbs elongated, stretching out to cover nearly the entirety of the floor’s diameter. Alastor laughed madly, his eyes bugging and his teeth gleaming under the overhead lights. With his hair puffed up like a hedgehog, the veil caught on one of his antlers, and his face flushed with drink, he looked every bit the crazed demon he presented himself as to the rest of Hell.
Vox thought he’d never looked more stunning.
The world was spinning—or maybe that was just the two of them, twirling around and round the empty ballroom. Vox’s hands were on Alastor’s waist, keeping him upright as Alastor continued to cackle and shimmy his fingers in a pair of jazz hands. With a tug, Vox pulled him closer until Alastor staggered into him, his hands flying to Vox’s shoulders. Alastor blinked drowsily, one eye at a time, as he looked at Vox, his pupils still rolling around in the sockets. The soft golden lights of the bulbs above shined in the deep reds of Alastor’s eyes like sunlight glimmering on the ocean. Vox was transfixed as he leant closer, his heart hammering in his chest. He was certain Alastor could feel it where their fronts were touching, a siren of his emotions pulsing between them.
“Alastor,” Vox murmured. In his mind his voice was soft and reverential but in reality, his words were so slurred it came out more as, “Alsssr.”
“Hm?” Alastor was now slouching against Vox so heavily he would’ve keeled straight over without his body to support him.
His mouth was doing something funny—oddly squiggled and slightly puckered. Vox’s heart leapt into his mouth? Was he going in for a kiss?
Vox’s eyes fluttered shut, his blood pulsing hot through his veins as he leaned even closer. Was this what it had always been leading up to? Was his and Alastor’s intangible pull towards each other a series of stepping stones heading to this? Vox felt the warmth of Alastor’s breath ghosting over his lips. His heart surged, his grip on Alastor’s waist tightening. Then-
“I think I’m gonna-“
Alastor lurched in his arms and Vox had just enough time for his eyes to open and see Alastor empty the contents of his guts onto his shirt. Vox blinked, stupefied, as Alastor wretched onto his fancy button-up, black bile spilling from his lips. He shook in Vox’s grasp, his ears drooping as he swayed on his feet. If Vox weren’t plastered beyond belief, maybe he would’ve been more upset about being thrown up on. As it was, he simply peeled Alastor off of him, holding him at arm’s length and ogled the mess dripping down his front.
“Why the fuck’s your puke black?”
NOW:
“You’ll take half of Voxtek over my dead body!” Vox yelled as he sailed over the table, towards Alastor’s delighted grin.
“Sir!” Luga protested, trying to stand but she was trapped in the confines of her too-small chair.
Before Vox could tackle him and rip him to pieces though, Alastor melted into a puddle of shadows and Vox passed through nothing but air, smacking face-first into the backrest of Alastor’s chair.
“That can certainly be arranged, if that’s preferable,” Alastor said, materialising in Vox’s vacant chair and making his legal team all jump in their seats.
They scooted their swivel chairs away from him as Vox unpeeled his face from the sheet of leather. He spun around, gritting his teeth and spitting mad to face Alastor, who was picking some dirt out from beneath his nails. Vox had half a mind to pounce at him again, despite knowing how futile it would be. There was no way in Hell, Heaven, Earth, or any other realm that might’ve existed in the known universe, that he was letting that slimy prick wrest even a fraction of his company from him. The audacity was ridiculous!
“You son of a bitch,” Vox growled, static electricity sparking all along his body.
Alastor smirked and curled his finger in what looked to be a come-hither gesture. Or it could’ve been a come get some gesture. Either way, Vox wanted to come.
Come and fuck him up.
Beside him, Rosie stood. The feathers on her hat were puffed up and frizzy from the static pulsing off of Vox, but she merely held a placating hand over the table between them.
“Now, now, gentlemen,” she said, that smooth schmoozer rearing its head. Vox had heard Rosie use that same tone many times as she charmed a room, soothing nerves and letting peoples’ guards down. It was her own personal brand of hypnosis, but instead of magical manipulation, it was the warm, honeyed tone resembling that of an aunt or a family friend that bent sinners’ wills. “There’s no need to go resortin’ to violence.”
“No, no,” Angel interjected, hands folded behind his head and feet kicked up on the table as he grinned at the display. “Let ‘em keep goin’ at it. I’m takin’ bets on who ends up on top.” He shot a wink at one of Vox’s lawyers, who blushed furiously, hiding his face behind a document.
Rosie ignored him, keeping her bottomless black eyes turned towards the cowering group of Voxtek lawyers and Luga, whose hips were still wedged between her armrests.
“I’m sure there’s a way we can reconcile all a’ this amicably,” Rosie said.
“Indeed,” Alastor agreed. He stood, pulled the chair back then bowed, gesturing at the empty seat to Vox. His eyes were framed by a curtain of scarlet hair draped over his face as he peered up at Vox with an impish smile. “I believe this is yours?”
Vox glared at his heavy-lidded eyes, framed by rows of long, sweeping lashes like some cute baby cow, and stomped around the circumference of the desk, to his chair. He waited for Alastor to slink back to his own seat before sitting down again. Luga gave up on trying to wiggle her way out of her chair and also sat back down with a grunt. Rosie smiled and if it were possible for a smile to be condescending, that’s how she smiled.
“There we go,” she said, sitting down beside Alastor once more. “See, we can be civilised about this. I know tensions can run high when the word ‘divorce’ gets thrown around. Why, my first husband just about lost his head when I brought it up the first time. And that was before the decapitation!”
She and Alastor both laughed uproariously, heads thrown back and fangs gleaming. Vox and his lawyers all shifted uncomfortably in their seats while Angel drew what looked like crude drawings of dicks on Alastor’s notes. Vox touched his collar and swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d replaced his head a few times throughout his afterlife and it wasn’t a fun process. He especially didn’t relish the thought if Alastor was his mechanic.
“Very funny,” Luga said stiffly as she straightened up some papers. At least she didn’t look put off by Alastor and Rosie’s antics. If anything, she just seemed annoyed. “Now then, can we please get back to negotiations? I believe it’s rather unreasonable to ask for such a large financial cut from Mr. Vox’s businesses, especially considering neither party were under the realisation that they were married. I don’t believe they were ever even a couple at any point over the course of their acquaintance.”
“If we were,” Vox cut in, arms still crossed over his chest, “you’d have been the worst husband in Hell. Disappearing for seven years without a word? Doesn’t seem like something a guy with someone waiting back home for him would do.”
Alastor slapped his palms down on the table, startling the Voxtek side of the table as he shot to his feet and pointed a grand finger in the air. “And that’s another thing! I vanish without a trace and you don’t even file a missing person’s report?”
“With who?” Vox shot back, jumping to his feet in turn. He thought steam might have been pouring out of his monitor. “The police? All those radio waves going to your head, old man? We’re in Hell!”
Alastor crossed his arms primly and tossed his nose up. “Still. You could’ve done something. For all you knew, I was dead in a ditch somewhere,” he said, pouting. This was an impressive feat, given that he managed to do this while still smiling.
“More like, I prayed for it,” Vox mumbled.
Alastor spread his hands as if to say, See? “You wound me, darling. One would think you don’t care at all.”
“I don’t care,” Vox snapped.
Confusingly, Alastor merely smiled. They both slowly sat down as chatter amongst their respective sides started up. Alastor kept his eyes on Vox the whole time, amusement dancing in those pink irises. Vox tried to puzzle him out but, as always, Alastor remained as elusive as ever, a Mona Lisa of mystery.
He’s laughing at me, Vox thought, his screen dimming as he glared at the shithead across from him. Fucking asshole…
“What both of these points prove,” Luga was saying, “is that neither Mr. Vox nor Mr. Alastor were ever under the impression that their marriage was legitimate. Obviously, because they were never a romantic pair.”
Angel paused his doodling long enough to snap his fingers. “Shamu brings up a good point. You guys ever consummate that shit?” He directed the question between the two of them, flicking his eyes from Alastor to Vox and back.
No, they had not consummated that shit. Which was, arguably, the worst part of the whole thing! Vox had never even got any fucking out of it. At least most divorced couples had a few rounds of break-up sex before calling it quits. All he had was a gold-digging serial killer, trying to fuck with his livelihood for fun.
For the first time that day, a flicker of annoyance creased Alastor’s brow. It quickly smoothed out, however, replaced with his usual relaxed smile.
“Such crude questions! Whatever happened to the sanctity of one’s private life?”
Vox scoffed. “Oh, so now you wanna keep shit private?” He smirked and leaned back in his chair as he leered at Alastor’s narrowed eyes across the table. “What? You don’t want me telling everyone that you’re just a big old sap? That you like being the little spoon and told what a good boy you are?”
Alastor’s claws curled into the tabletop, peeling back ribbons of wood. “So, it’s to be a smear campaign, is it?” he barked, eyes flashing. “No matter! I can just as easily say you’re into something pathetic and embarrassing.” He snapped his fingers and Angel slid over to his side, spinning around in his chair a few times, before bumping into Alastor’s chair and coming to a halt, his arm raised in a salute. “Angel?”
Angel cleared his throat and began listing off on his fingers. “Let’s see here. We got degradation kink, piss play, diaper fetish, forniphilia-“ At the gallery of confused looks, he grinned. “Look it up. Anyway, as I was sayin’-“
Angel continued to list a litany of kinks and fetishes that Vox never heard of, even with Valentino’s penchant to brainstorm ideas for his films aloud in the shared lounge. The Voxtek legal team were a collection of expressions; some confused, some uncomfortable, and the pixie demon was openly salivating as Angel made crude gestures with his hands. Alastor looked somewhat perturbed at his legal advisor and he and Vox momentarily locked eyes.
Something passed between them then. Vox’s mouth quirked and Alastor’s eyebrow arched before their eyes passed on. It was a brief, fleeting thing, there and gone between breaths, but it left Vox off-kilter, like he’d missed the final step on a staircase. For a second there, it had almost felt like he and Alastor were sharing a private joke. It reminded him of times in their past when they would hang out together at bars and some fresh soul would be chatting them up, unaware that they were in the company of two powerful overlords, and the two of them would share knowing looks over the head of their prey.
Vox would take Alastor’s lead, going along with it and politely nodding along as the young sinner would prattle on about the power they’d recently spawned into. Doubtless, they believed their ability to light their fingertips on fire or make their eyes glow in the dark was very impressive. It didn’t help that Alastor would sit, curled over his drink, chin in hand and batting his eyelashes, listening with rapt attention. His exclamations of, “Oh my!” and “You don’t say!” would always have Vox biting at the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into laughter. It was obvious to him that Alastor was laying it on thick as a slab of butter, but clearly, their suckers never clued in that they were being taken for a ride.
That was, until Alastor either tired of the joke or the sinner pushed their luck just a tad to far by putting their hands on Alastor or cracking a crude line at Vox. Then Vox would either poke them in the back, sending a jolt of electricity through their skin, frying them to a blackened pile of ash, or Alastor would slyly suggest that they take a step outside. Sometimes Vox would stay and watch Alastor go full freak mode as he tore into the screaming sinner with teeth and tentacles, but mostly he’d hang around the corner of some secluded alley, typing away on his phone while Alastor had his fun. Wanton, bloody violence had always been more his thing anyway.
Alastor would emerge sometime later, painted head to toe in red and grinning a satisfied smile. Vox would easily push off the wall and ask Alastor if he felt like another drink out or if they should head back to one of their places to finish out the night. Alastor would often choose the latter.
Vox didn’t know why he was thinking about all of that now. That was the past. Decades ago, which wasn’t too long in the grand scheme of their hellish, immortal afterlives, but felt like eons. He and Alastor weren’t like that anymore. They didn’t pal around, drinking into the night and sharing inside jokes. They didn’t seek each other out in a crowd to cast knowing looks in each other’s direction.
Apart from just now, that was.
“If we are to go into the matter of property and asset distribution,” Luga said, folding her thick hands together over a stack of folders, “then shouldn’t it be prudent the other side present their holdings as well?”
Alastor hummed as he leaned back in his seat, a feline smile stretching across his face. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in terms of earthly possessions. Unless, of course, Mr. Vox has taken a sudden shining to outdated, old-timey crap.”
His self-satisfied grin wiped away any festering sense of nostalgia that had been brewing in Vox’s chest. He cleaved that urge to reminisce on the past in two, cutting away any lingering sentimentality until he reached the cold core of himself. That ruthless businessman that had clawed and scraped his way to the top, leaving husks devoid of their money and souls in his wake. He flattened his eyes and sharpened his smile, drumming his clawed fingers against the wooden tabletop.
“Oh, sure. You can get by being a broke loser when you can just poof-“ He snapped his fingers, “-whatever you want into existence. But there’s one kinda currency that’s worth even more than money down here, and Honey, you’re loaded with it.” Alastor’s ears twitched, his lips pulling back enough to reveal a sliver of black gums as Vox smirked at him. “If you’re entitled to half of Voxtek, then I guess I’m entitled to half of your souls.”
A high-pitched, creaking whine echoed from the back of Alastor’s throat. For a sliver of a second, his eyes flickered from red to black, his pupils narrowing to points. But he blinked and it was gone, an after shadow left on the inside of Vox’s eyelids. Rosie and Angel both cast Alastor matching looks of wariness but Alastor, ever the showman, never let his mask slip, even when Vox knew he had his balls in a vice.
“And I, yours,” Alastor ground out, his grip on his cane tightening.
Vox shrugged, unaffected. “We never did measure out all the numbers of our collections, did we?” He grinned, a wicked stab of triumph coursing through him at finally getting one over on Alastor. It was an intoxicating feeling, similar to the rush he’d felt back when he’d made his first deal and bound a sinner’s soul. It was almost addicting enough to make him entertain the thought of keeping Alastor around, if only so he might experience such a thrill again, risks and all. “Guess we’ll finally see whose is bigger.”
Angel wordlessly reached his hand across the table, offering it to Vox in a high-five but Alastor slapped his arm down with his cane before Vox could react.
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut through with a knife and serve, over-cooked and unseasoned, up on a platter for dinner. The two overlords stared each other down, unseen radio waves crackling between them, twisting around Vox’s antennae and twining between Alastor’s antlers. Vox refused to blink, convinced that if he did, he’d open his eyes to see Alastor’s jaw, unhinged and ringed with row after row of needle-sharp teeth, ready to sink into his neck and rip his jugular out, just like he’d seen him do to so many other clueless sinners. But Alastor remained in his seat, smile frozen on his face and fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cane like he was picturing it as Vox’s throat.
Just when Vox was beginning to overheat from the scrutiny, the door burst open and the princess erupted into the room. She was smiling brightly from ear-to-ear, brandishing a sliver platter piled high with sloppy sandwiches.
“I made lunch!” Charlie announced, a musical tinkling to her voice. A swarm of heads turned to look at her. At the extended, incredulous silence, her smile dimmed some. Her pale face flushed and she lowered the platter. “Um, if you guys are hungry, that is.”
Vox was ready to scoff but then one of his lawyers raised a hand.
“Um, I could go for a sandwich,” she murmured, looking uncertainly about the room.
Another lawyer piped up. “Did you have any egg salad?”
Just as quickly as she’d wilted, Charlie sprang back to life, eyes lighting up to a thousand watts. “Yes, I do!”
She bustled into the room, a tiny winged goat flying behind her. She set the platter down in the middle of the table and the Voxtek legal team instantly surrounded it, wiggling their fingers and humming with interest. Charlie pointed to various sandwiches, listing out what they are.
“That one’s ham and cheese, that one’s peanut butter and jelly, that one’s…um. Beans? I’m not sure what everything in the fridge was, sorry.” She cast an apologetic look at Rosie as sandwiches were pinched and squirreled away. “Sorry I don’t have anything for you, Rosie. We don’t really keep any, uh, human flesh in the pantry.”
Rosie waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that, darling! I had a big breakfast.” She grinned and added, “Hope you’re not expecting the mailman today!”
She laughed and poked her elbow into Alastor’s side, but he wasn’t laughing along with her. He stared at the tabletop with an indecipherable look on his face. He wordlessly rose to his feet and spoke to Rosie.
“I think I’ll step out for a minute while we break for lunch.”
Rosie blinked in surprise but smiled back after a moment. She squeezed Alastor’s arm. “Of course, dear. Take all the time you need.” She turned in her chair back to Luga, the only one not taken in by Charlie’s mini sandwich buffet. Rosie’s inky eyes narrowed to slits and she flashed her serrated grin as she leaned over the lip of the table. “I think we need some time for a little girls’ talk.”
Luga, to her credit, didn’t show any sign of fear, even with a cannibal overlord leering at her like a jungle cat eying up a canary. She simply straightened up her glasses and allowed her shadow to loom over Rosie.
“Indeed,” she replied stoically. Without taking her eyes off of Rosie, she said to Vox, “Sir, why don’t you step out as well? You can leave this to me.”
“What? Seriously?” Vox said, blinking in surprise.
Luga swept her eyes across the room, at her team crowding around Charlie for sandwiches, at Angel flirting with the paralegal, before settling on him. Her mouth was pulled back in an unimpressed scowl, her cool demeanour practically frigid.
“Yes,” she said. “I think everyone could do with cooling off.”
Vox glimpsed Alastor slipping from the room, his red coattails fluttering behind him as he strode out the door. As soon as he was gone, Vox’s energy dipped, the tight cords of tension that had been holding him up in Alastor’s presence slackening. His batteries felt depleted, like he needed a high carb meal and a power nap to recharge. He refused to touch one of Charlie’s sandwiches though, so he rose to his feet, the comfortable weight of a cigarette box in his pocket.
“Fine,” he sighed. “You take care of the shit show then.”
“Yes, Sir,” he heard Luga say as he paced from the room, turning in the opposite direction he’d seen Alastor leave.
His legal team were too preoccupied with lunch time to notice him going. Idiots. He’d have to fire all of them later. Except Luga. She could stay.
Alastor sat on the rooftop for some time. The air was warm and a soft breeze brushed at his hair and between his ears. The sun sunk ever closer towards the horizon, ready to bath Hell in a moonless night and provide a lovely backdrop for all the bright lights of Pentagram City to spring to life against. He stared out at the distant bustle of the city, plumes of smoke rising into the sky, and pained cries reaching his ears.
He didn’t worry about what was going on inside. He knew Rosie could handle everything herself with ease. No, he didn’t worry about the divide of assets or anything pertaining to the legality of the divorce. He knew, regardless of however Vox tried to rile him up, that Vox had far more to lose in terms of tangible possessions. His unease stemmed from his own meandering thoughts. Thoughts which were straying down the path of reminiscing.
Even when Vox wore that shit-eating grin as he tried poking at Alastor with a metaphorical stick, Alastor couldn’t help but think back fondly to times gone past. How entertaining it had been to watch Vox in action while the two of them had swanned about town together. Leaning back and watching Vox work a room or chat up a group of potential investors (or victims, if one wanted to think of it that way) had always been a class show. Even watching his temper fray and snap was fun. Particularly when the source of his ire was Alastor himself.
His gears were just so easy to grind when one knew the right places to poke. And Alastor knew all the right places. It was growing to be a favourite pastime of his, to sprinkle just the right combination of words to get Vox’s antennae zapping and his screen glitching.
Alastor hummed a laugh to himself just thinking about it. If it were only Vox’s entertainment value that he was consumed with, then perhaps everything would still be as it should. However, Alastor couldn’t help but also contemplate their old friendship and how well they had gotten along. It was bringing back old memories, resurfacing snatches of the past that had long been buried in Alastor’s mind. It was most irksome.
His ponderous mood was broken by the sound of a door rattling open below him, followed by a muffled curse. Curiously, Alastor leaned forward, peering over the lip of the roof, down to the balcony connected to the floor below. On it stood Vox, leaning against the railing and fishing a cigarette from a half-empty box. Alastor internally chided him. He’d always admonished Vox for the habit, even before humans had discovered all the nasty side effects of those things.
“Just think of your poor vocal cords,” Alastor would say.
Vox, naturally, would laugh, smoke spewing from the cavern of his screen. “Relax. What can a little tobacco do to me now? Kill me?”
Alastor watched him as he smoked in silence for a minute, contemplating his next move. He had no plan about what to do with Vox without the assembled crowd in the conference room, but decided not everything today had to go according to the script. He would allow himself this little chance to play. So, he rose to his feet, folded his arms behind his back, and soundlessly stepped off the edge of the roof. He landed with a light tap of his heels against the tiled floor behind Vox, making him startle.
Alastor grinned at Vox’s bewildered face and threw his arms out with a flourish. “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today to witness this walking fire hazard.”
Vox’s surprise only lasted a moment before his expression smoothed out into one of vague irritation.
“Oh, great,” he muttered, turning away from Alastor and hunching over the railing, propping his elbows up on the handrail. “You. I came out here for some peace and quiet, and look what I get.”
“Come now, my dear,” Alastor cooed, joining Vox on the lip of the balcony. “You didn’t honestly expect to be rid of me that easily, did you? I was left to believe it wasn’t ‘til death that we parted.”
“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Vox mumbled, taking another drag from his cigarette.
They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the fizzing ember burning at the end of Vox’s cigarette and the rustle of the wind between the dry grass below. Vox blew out a jet of smoke and Alastor waved a hand, changing the course of the wind to blow the smoke in the opposite direction. There was a pause. Then Vox held the cigarette out in Alastor’s direction. Alastor blinked down at the little roll of tobacco with surprise before glancing up at Vox, who stared resolutely ahead.
“No, thank you,” Alastor said eventually.
Vox did look at him then, turning his screen and giving Alastor a more complete view of the flat glass pane that was his face.
“Oh, right,” Vox replied with a roll of his eyes. “I forgot. No smokes for you. Far too unhealthy.”
Alastor allowed the comment to pull his smile wider, his eyelids dipping as he tipped his head to the side. “Thank you ever so much for looking out for my best interest. Such a darling husband.”
Vox scoffed, but there was a slight quirk to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well. Not for much longer.”
The comment hung in the air between them, thicker than the smoke trailing from the tip of Vox’s cigarette, dangling between his fingers. Alastor turned so his back was to the railing, leaning against it so he could grip his cane in front of him. Against the backdrop of his thoughts was the ever-present tune of music. When he was alone, he would let it drift from the head of his microphone, but in company he kept the tunes locked in his brain where they would play on an endless loop. With nothing but the stretching silence between them, he hummed to himself, drumming his claws against his cane to the beat.
Vox raised his TV head, his antennae twitching as he blinked at Alastor with something like awe. His expression puzzled Alastor, who missed a beat in his song as Vox continued to stare at him.
“What?” he demanded.
“That song…” Vox murmured, rubbing at the bottom edge of his monitor in thought. “I know that song from somewhere. God, it’s right there on the tip of my-“ He cut himself off as his eyes widened with a dawning realisation Alastor was still lost to.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s that song that played in the ballroom,” Vox said, his own brow creased. “At our, uh- Wedding.”
Now, it was Alastor’s turn to be startled. He blinked a few times then stared down at his cane, his eyebrows coming together to form a point on his brow.
“Is that right?” he said under his breath.
“Yeah,” Vox answered. “It was like-“
He cut himself off again to scat a couple of da, da, da’s, rapping his claws against the railing as he did. He bopped his head from side to side as he mumbled out some lyrics.
“You’re the one…baby, the one…La la, one.”
“No, no,” Alastor interjected turning around once more so that he and Vox were elbow-to-elbow. “It was more of a- You’re the one for me, ba-by. I’ll hold you close, da da da…Love you the most-“
Vox nodded a finger at him, the two of them bopping along to the old song together, as it formed in both of their minds. They continued to sing in a harmony.
“There’s no one else, only you.
I don’t know what else to do,
Than love you forever, honey.”
The song descended into shared laughter as their half-remembered lyrics stumbled into upbeat mumbling. Alastor snorted while Vox slapped a hand against the railing.
“Yes! That’s it!” Vox exclaimed, snapping his fingers. He raised the cigarette to his mouth and shook his head as he stared off into the distance. “God, I haven’t heard that song in years.”
“Me neither,” Alastor admitted.
Vox cast a fleeting glance at him before looking back out at the view. “I’m surprised you can even remember it. You were drunk as a skunk that night.”
Alastor puffed out a laugh, poking Vox’s shoe with the butt of his cane. “Oh, yes. Because you were the picture of sobriety yourself?”
“Hey, at least I didn’t pass out at the altar then throw up all over my groom during the first dance.”
Alastor couldn’t argue with that, so he shrugged instead. “We both weren’t at our best that night. I can only imagine that’s the reason why you thought eloping sounded like a good idea at the time.”
Vox flicked some ash in his direction. “Again, that wasn’t my idea.”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t mine,” Alastor argued.
Once again, that blanket of silence descended over them, snuffing out any further conversation. Alastor couldn’t seem to find a comfortable grip for his cane in the palm of his hands. He kept passing it back and forth, from left to right, trying to puzzle out the little nagging seed burrowing through his mind and attempting to sprout. It was most perturbing. He scratched between his antlers with the pointy tip of his cane as Vox spoke up again.
“Still…even though it caused us all this grief—and I’d never in a million years marry you in my right mind-“ Alastor smiled sweetly at the finger Vox jabbed in his direction. Vox’s glare softened and he lowered his finger, staring down the cigarette smoke drifting into the air in a rising, curling trail. “It was a fun night.”
Alastor hummed an agreeable sound in the back of his throat. “Indeed, it was. Certainly, the most high-profile wedding that dingy little chapel ever saw.”
Vox laughed once under his breath before taking another drag. Alastor slid his eyes over to watch him as he did, a new idea beginning to flower in his mind. He tipped his head to the side, nearly resting his ear on his shoulder as he smiled up at Vox from beneath the frame of his lashes.
“Tell you what, hubby,” he said. “How about we make a deal?”
Vox jolted at his words, nearly inhaling his cigarette. He coughed up puffs of smoke as he hunched over the railing, clutching both it and his stomach in either hand. Alastor patiently waited for him to catch his breath and get himself under control, remaining in place.
“What?” Vox wheezed, turning to face him front on. His eyes watered with pixely tears as he coughed into his fist. “You’re being serious right now?”
“But of course,” Alastor replied, pushing himself off the railing and twirling his cane round in his hand. He brought the butt of it down with a purposeful slam to the ground between them, gripping the head with both hands. “I believe I’ve come up with a perfect compromise for the both of us. I will agree not to reap you of half of all the you hold dear, including your company. I’ll sign the divorce papers today and you’ll be free to cavort around town however you please with a clean conscience. I’ll even throw a couple of souls your way, if that’s not enough.”
Vox eyed him warily, doubtless waiting for the but to fall and cleave his hopes in two. Alastor decided to cut to the chase and put him out of his misery.
“But, in return, I keep all that I own, and you delegate a seat on your company board to me.”
“A seat?” Vox echoed, eyes perfectly round. “On the board? Why would you even want that?”
“Why, to keep an eye on my investment, of course,” Alastor prattled, pressing a hand to his own chest. He kept an eye cracked open, watching Vox for his reaction. So far, he was seeing sceptical confusion. That was alright. He could work just fine with that. “I won’t be a majority holder, by any means, but I do wish to keep an eye on things. Just to make sure my soon-to-be-ex-husband doesn’t make any…unwise business decisions.”
“Ah.” Vox wore a knowing frown, eying Alastor’s hands and his claws tapping away at his cane. “Of course. You want an excuse to spy on me.”
“Certainly not!” Alastor tipped his nose up, then cracked an eye open to smile at Vox. “I’m simply thinking of the future. Weren’t you always trying to push me to be more involved in the latest, up-and-coming technology?”
“And you always shot me down,” Vox said flatly.
He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. Alastor could sense that he was there, right on the edge, wanting to say yes and get this whole mess sorted, over and done with. He just needed that last little push.
“I believe, when you think it over,” Alastor said, slinking forward, “that you’ll find the terms quite agreeable, both to you and me.” He smiled, feeling the mischief glinting in his own eyes as he angled his head down to look up at Vox. “I’ll even throw in a little bonus, just for you.”
Vox quirked an eyebrow. “A bonus?”
“Yes. Just something extra. A cherry on top to sweeten the deal.”
“And do I get to know what this cherry is?”
“Nope!” Alastor answered cheerily, relishing in Vox’s answering pout. “It’s a mystery bonus.”
“Then how do I know it’s worth it?” Vox asked.
Alastor kept his expression neutral as he replied, “It will be to you’re liking. You can trust that.”
Vox looked doubtful but his shoulders eventually relaxed, losing some of their tension. He rubbed the edge of his monitor as he thought. Alastor watched the battle play out in high def on his screen. It was a minute of Vox pacing around, humming to himself and scratching the back of his head, before he finally came to halt in front of Alastor once more.
“So, just to get this straight,” Vox said, holding his hands out, “you’ll give up any claim to Voxtek and my money if I don’t try to nab any of your souls and let you sit on the board?”
“Glad to see your auditory processing hasn’t completely degraded over time,” Alastor chirped. He held a hand out, the green glow of binding dancing around his fingers. He felt his antlers branch a few points and his eyes flicker in and out of their regular colour to radio dial-black. “Do we have a deal?”
Vox stared at his hand a moment longer, wariness warring on his face, before slapping his hand against Alastor’s. “Deal.”
The moment their fingers locked around the other’s hand, the green light enveloped them, binding their deal. It lasted only a handful of seconds before the light faded with a dull zap, but when Vox went to pull his hand back, Alastor held firm. At Vox’s inquisitive look, Alastor smiled.
“You know, they were right,” he began conversationally. “We never did seal the deal, did we?”
Vox’s eyebrows drew together. “Wha-?”
His question ended with a startled yelp as Alastor yanked him in by the hand. Alastor shut his eyes and caught Vox’s mouth in a kiss. He felt Vox stiffen against him, his hand spasming in Alastor’s grip. Where their lips were pressed together, a current of static electricity passed through Alastor’s mouth, zapping up and down his body in a light shock, making his hooves twitch in his boots and his ears stand to attention. The electricity crackled along his skin in a pleasant zing and zapped between his antlers, only fading away when Alastor leaned back, breaking the kiss.
He watched Vox blink his eyes open, looking dazed, his mouth still shaped around a pucker. Alastor offered him an amused smiled and patted the side of his monitor, making his antennae bobble atop his head.
“There’s your bonus,” Alastor told him and let go of his hand.
He swiped his cane up as he made for the door, hands folded neatly behind his back and whistling a jaunty tune. He couldn’t say if his good mood was a result of Vox’s electricity still coursing through his veins or the stupefied look he’d managed to spring on Vox with one little kiss. Either way, he threw the door open with enough enthusiasm to have it crashing into the wall with a loud clatter, rattling on its hinges.
He grinned at Vox, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the balcony, gripping the handrail for support.
“Now, we’re married!” he announced. “See you inside for the divorce, dear!”
And he slammed the door shut behind him.
It was some time later when Vox and Alastor returned to the conference room to find the Voxtek legal team all sprawled out in their chairs, some with their heads down on the table, others curled up into balls. One was flat on his back under the table. Vox was only 50% sure he was alive. The only two left standing were Luga and Rosie, both of whom where still sat in their chairs, facing each other and hunched over their stacks of papers. Documents and sheets of paper were strewn in haphazard towers between them. Even as Vox and Alastor stepped inside, they were haggling, speaking over each other and vigourously underlining things, sending blobs of ink steaking across the papers.
It was only when Vox loudly cleared his throat that they both turned their heads towards them. Luga tried to stand.
“Oh, Sir. There you are,” she grunted, her seat still stuck around her wide hips. She struggled for a few seconds, Rosie watching her with a pleasant smile, making no move to help, until she sat back down with a resigned sigh.
“Don’t make yourself too comfortable, Luga,” Vox muttered, walking back to his seat, stepping over a couple of his collapsed employees to get there. “We’ll be leaving in a minute.”
This got her attention, as well as Rosie’s.
“Sir?” Luga asked.
Vox spared a look at Alastor. Or, he tried too, but he got one glimpse of Alastor’s smiling mouth, immediately felt his insides heat up like his body was being nuked in a giant oven, and swiftly flicked his gaze back to Luga. He coughed into his fist to mask the sound of his internal fans whirring.
“Alastor and I have come to an agreement ourselves,” he said.
Rosie blinked at Alastor, who took his seat beside her once more. “Is that right?”
“Indeed, it is,” Alastor said, snapping his fingers and spawning an old-fashioned scroll in the air before him. It unfurled, tumbling onto the table, and rolling out the list of stipulations he and Vox had come up with. Rosie plucked it out of the air to read herself while Alastor explained. “The two of us have agreed that all this fighting does no one any good. I would so hate for things to turn ugly. After all, Vox has two children waiting back home who need him.”
Vox snorted but didn’t disagree. He watched Rosie flick her black eyes down the length of the scroll before handing it over to Luga, who adjusted her reading glasses before looking it over herself. At the bottom of the page was both his and Alastor’s signatures, side-by-side, just as they had appeared on their marriage certificate. The thought stirred something hot and bubbly in the pit of Vox’s stomach, like he’d drunk too much soda.
“Well, this is a pleasant turn of events,” Rosie remarked, threading her fingers together. She was casting a searching look at Alastor, who was doing his best to ignore her as he whistled at the ceiling. “I’m glad the two of you were able to sort things out like gentleman.” She spoke behind her hand to Alastor in a stage whisper. “But I won’t lie, I was enjoying myself there. Give them Hell, indeed!”
“Hmph,” Luga grunted, setting the scroll down. As she did, Alastor snapped his fingers and the scroll vanished. She glanced at him and said, “I’ll be needing a copy of that for our records.” He waved his agreement and she dug a sheet of paper from the bottom of one of her piles. She slid it over to Vox. “Well, since you’ve managed to come to an agreement yourselves, all that’s left is to sign the divorce papers.”
Vox stared down at the paper as Luga muttered something about the hassle it was to sort through the tax bullshit when Alastor hadn’t filed a single tax return his entire afterlife. His chest was oddly heavy as he scribbled out his name and slid the paper across the table to Alastor. Alastor accepted it and flicked a finger, summoning the same fancy, silver-plated fountain pen he’d been ready to use to end his marriage to Vox the other day in Vee tower. He hummed to himself as he angled the tip of the pen against the paper. He aimed a smile up at Vox, shadows swimming in those gorgeous red eyes of his.
“’Til death do we part,” Alastor recited, then scrawled his name, complete with smiley face. He grinned and tossed the pen over his shoulder, where it promptly vanished into thin air. “Or ‘til right now!” He lowered his chin to his hand and smiled, eyelids heavy. “Happy divorce, dear.”
At that moment, the closet door flew open and Angel and the pixie demon on Vox’s legal team stumbled out. Their clothes were in disarray, their hair fluffed up and sticking out in all directions. Bite marks adorned the side of Angel’s neck and the pixie collapsed, face-down on the carpet, a dreamy smile on his face.
All heads were turned in their direction. Angel froze for a moment, his eyes flicking from Vox, to Rosie, before settling on Alastor. He offered him a sheepish grin as he tried straightened up his tie.
“Hey, I heard the word divorce. Did we win?”
Alastor sighed and pinched his brow.
Charlie waved to Luga (who had escaped her chair with one mighty flex, breaking it to pieces) and the other lawyers as they all filed out the door, wishing each of them a cheery farewell.
“Thanks so much for coming!” she chirped, hands clasped together. “You’re welcome back any time!”
Most shuffled past with mumbled thanks of their own, before piling into the waiting limo. Luga watched over all of them with a keen eye. She glared especially hard at the pixie demon, who scurried past hastily. Angel called after him, his hand held up to his head in a call me gesture. Rosie approached Luga, the two women staring each other down. The moment was broken when Rosie fished a business card out of her purse and held it out to Luga.
“I can appreciate a woman with drive,” Rosie explained, an impish twinkle in her eyes. “Gimme a call if you’re ever lookin’ for a job.”
Luga stared at the card in Rosie’s hand for a moment before taking it without a word. She stuffed it inside her suit jacket, then followed the other lawyers over to the limo. She paused by the open door to look back at Vox.
“Ready, Sir?”
He nodded, though he was looking at Alastor, stood off to the side on the front porch, smiling cryptically as he watched Vox’s legal team pile into the limo. Vox approached him slowly, his nerves jittery, as though anticipating Alastor would grab his arm again and pull him in for another kiss.
Dreading? Hoping?
“Well,” Vox began, unsure how else to open things. Alastor’s ear twitching was the only indication he got that Alastor was listening. “It should take a little while to get finalised, but Luga seems confident that she’ll be able to speed up the process.”
“Ah, yes,” Alastor said airily. “One of the pros of having money and influence.”
“One of many,” Vox corrected. He dug his hands into his pockets and looked away, discomfort prickling under his skin. He didn’t know what he’d been waiting for—hoping for. He was as likely to get closure from a rock than he was to get it from Alastor.
Suddenly, a clawed finger was gripping the bottom of his monitor, turning his head round to face Alastor’s devious grin. Vox was pinned to the spot by their close proximity, Alastor’s eyes locked on his nailing his feet to the floorboards.
“Don’t look so glum, my dear,” Alastor crooned. “If it’s any consolation, you were the best husband I ever had.” He waited a moment, leaving Vox’s breath lodged in his throat, before he released him and stepped back, wiggling his fingers. “And the worst! Best of luck. I can’t wait for the next board meeting.”
He cackled something dark and menacing before melting into a shadowy puddle and slipping back inside the hotel. It took Luga calling out his name again for Vox to be shocked back to his senses. His feet moved of their own accord, carrying him away from the hotel and Alastor.
His ex-husband.
Vox shivered as he climbed inside the limo.
Alastor materialised in his favourite armchair in the parlour, keeping his ears pricked and listening. He heard the sound of the engine starting, then the car pulling away from the grassy lawn, the rumble disappearing into the distance until it was gone. He folded his hands together over his knee and with a look summoned music to the radio. A pleasing melody filled the lobby and he sank back against the cushions with a content sigh, conjuring a cup of tea in his hands. He sipped as Charlie and Vaggie both came to sit across from him on the chaise longue.
“So?” Charlie asked. “How’d it go?”
“He won’t be coming back, will he?” Vaggie piped up, a heavy frown tugging the corner of her mouth down and making Alastor titter under his breath.
“Everything went perfectly smooth. And no, they will not be coming again,” he reassured them.
Angel happened to pass by, grinning to himself as he popped the top few buttons on his dress shirt, exposing his fluffy chest.
“Speak for yourself,” he said. “My guy’s definitely comin’ again.”
Alastor rolled his eyes but kept his smile as he sipped from his cup and Angel skipped up the stairs. The girls continued to look at him, waiting for what, he didn’t know.
“But you’re sure it’s all over?” Vaggie questioned. “It kind of seems too easy for it all to be over and done with, just like that.”
“I assure you, my dear,” Alastor emphasised, “that it is all settled and finalised. Vox and I are no more. That chapter is completely shut. Finished.”
Vaggie and Charlie looked at each other while Alastor stared into the fire, drinking his tea. All the while, the radio continued to play a familiar song.
“There’s no one else, only you.
I don’t know what else to do,
Than love you forever, honey.”
Vox arrived back at VQ sometime later. He dismissed his legal team and headed straight for the penthouse floor, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. The elevator dinged open into the longue space, revealing Velvette and Valentino both sprawled across the longue. Velvette was sat in Val’s lap, sketching away on her tablet while Val laid back, propped up on some cushions and sipping a martini. Vox could go for one of those himself. They both perked up at the sound of his shoes clopping across the tiled floor.
“There you are,” Velvette barked, lowering her tablet. “You’ve been gone all fucking day.”
“Yeah, well,” Vox sighed, shrugging out of his suit jacket, “there was a lot of work to do. Something you two slackers wouldn’t know anything about.”
“So, how’d it go?” Val asked, ignoring Vox’s barb. “Am I not gonna be able to cuck the Radio Demon when we fuck anymore?”
“If that’s you’re way of asking me if Alastor and I are officially divorced,” Vox mumbled, tossing his jacket on the floor and dragging his feet as he made his way towards his bedroom, “then yes.”
Val clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Ah. What a shame. I know some types who’d be really into that kind of thing.”
“I’m sure you do,” Vox yawned, rubbing at his stinging eyes. He reached his room, the doors sliding open at his approach. He paused in the doorway, his hand curled around the frame. Sticking his head around the corner, he called out, “By the way, Alastor’s on the Voxtek board of directors now,” before slipping inside and letting the doors swish shut behind him.
He heard Velvette’s muffled, “What?!” through the wall but he was too busy collapsing onto his bed to care. With a long groan, he buried his face into his pillow, trying to squeeze his eyes shut and block the events of the day from his mind. But try as he might, all he could see in his mind were Alastor’s twin ruby eyes. All he could hear was his tinkling laugh and the sonorous tone of his voice saying Vox’s name. All he could feel was the press of his mouth against his, frying Vox’s systems and nearly short-circuiting his heart.
Shit. He needed to get a hold of himself if he was going to be seeing Alastor on a regular basis to do business. The thought thrilled and terrified him in equal measure.
“Fuuuck,” he whined into the pillow, kicking his feet.
He swore he was never getting drunk again.