Chapter Text
There's discomfort in his neck, laying on his side like this, his neck and shoulders propped up on a pillow to accommodate the wide screen. It barely registers given the absolute wonder oh holding Alastor. He's careful not to hold on too tightly; his arm slipped around Alastor; hand finding hand, letting their fingers slowly twine. He can feel every breath Alastor takes, his back to Vox's chest, tucked against him. He can feel the softness of the tail pressed below his naval. Alastor's ears give a little flick, and Vox wishes he could nip one, or kiss Alastor's shoulder, or show some small tenderness to ease the nerves Vox can feel rolling off of him, even though Alastor is the one who suggested this ("I know you'd like to. And I... May as well see what the fuss is about. It sounds like a lot of mess, if you ask me." A thrill had run through Vox even though he near immediately clocked that Alastor was playing a little too hard at aloof). His head feels unwieldy for such tiny gestures just now, but he shifts a bit to press a kiss to the back of Alastor's neck, feeling the slight tickle from red hair brushing lightly against his screen-- sticking a little with static that makes Vox blush and want to apologize until he hears Alastor laugh a little.
"You're trying very hard not to spook me, aren't you, Vincent?"
Vincent. Spoken like an endearment. Vox's stomach might well drop out his ass, he really cannot believe this is happening. It started two months ago when Alastor looked at him hard for a solid minute then sat back in his chair and said "You may kiss me." No preamble. Just... You may kiss me. And he had, and Alastor has been ok with it-- liked it even-- well, not with Vox's tongue- but otherwise he'd kissed back, he'd hummed lightly against Vox's mouth, and their frequencies has twined up so sweetly.
"Heh- maybe a little... Is it going well?" He bites his lower lip, watching the line of Alastor's shoulders for tension, thumb brushing the back of his hand.
"It's... not going poorly." Alastor concedes, shifting a little, one hoof scraping slightly along Vox's leg.
"Are you ready?" Vox breathes, static creeping into his voice as it lowers.
"I- As much as I will be, I suspect. Yes."
"Fuck." Vincent breathes, something like electricity jolting through him, making him shake slightly with excitement.
"Yes, I know you're eager." Alastor's voice is wry.
Humor is good. Vox bites his lower lip; tries to hold it together, not vibrate out of his own body in anticipation. This is happening. Alastor is here, skin against Vox's skin, and Vox's free hand is sliding down when suddenly Alastor is taut as a bowstring then just gone in a ripple of shadow, leaving Vox alone in the bed.
"Shit- Al-" His hand comes down on the mattress and he groans, sitting up and casting his eyes around the room. "Fuck." He mutters as Alastor's clothes swirl up from the floor too, that familiar shadow eying him warily before diving into a pool of inky blackness and vanishing. "Al, come on!" He grips at the sheets, willing his own body to cool, then looks over his shoulder when he senses Alastor, leaned up in the corner, dressed, smile stretched too far, eyes looking resolutely at the wall. "Alastor, come here." Vox's voice goes gentle, coaxing.
"I don't think so."
"What do you think I'm gonna do?" Vox frowns at him, turning to face him fully, keeping the blankets over his hips for good measure.
"I know you want this." Alastor grounds out. His ears are flat, body tense, eyes- his eyes might break Vox's heart. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you."
"I do want it." He's not going to do Alastor the disservice of lying. "But it wouldn't be good if you... don't. You don't, do you?" He slowly extends a hand, trying to quiet that want; get his body under control. "Al, I promise I'm not gonna make you."
Alastor's lips press together, eyes flicking from Vox's hand to the blankets, to his face. Slowly he approaches the bed; perching on the edge, but clearly ready to bolt again. Vox reaches for him then catches himself, fingers twitching uncertainly. Alastor slowly leans in so those blue claws brush his shoulder- just a brush, before they settle; Alastor doesn't flinch from it, so that's something.
I... May as well see what the fuss is about. It sounds like a lot of mess, if you ask me.
"I don't think I really realized... this isn't just new with me, is it?"
"I've never felt any desire for it." His ears twitch up, then half down again. "For anything." His eyes finally come up to meet Vox's. "It's all felt rather... repellent, actually. But kissing you was quite nice, mostly. So I thought..." He shakes his head. "I know you want this." He looks down again, brow furrowing.
"Since when have you ever had any sort of problem not giving me what I want?" Vox hopes his voice sounds light enough; means to alleviate some of the tension coiling Alastor up beneath his hand.
Alastor scoffs. "How well that's always gone."
"What I want, what it's always been, Al, was to be close to you. Any way you'll have me. It's rain on the desert."
Alastor rolls his eyes, but he softens, too. "Oh, don't sound too pathetic."
"Yeah, I'm aware." Vox offers a lopsided grin. "You have that effect." His thumb brushes Alastor's shoulder, back and forth. Please don't run. "So are you, like, asexual?"
Alastor squints at him, tilting his head. "Like one of your sea creatures? What does self reproduction have to do with-"
"Ok, first, wow, you do listen when I talk about sharks- but second, no, it's-" He tries to remember the presentation Vel had him and Val sit through ("Trust Us With Your Representation!"). "It's people who don't fuck. Well, usually, there's like-- I dunno, different brands." Alastor is still squinting at him, ears flicking. "It's a real thing."
"Hn." He looks thoughtful.
"It's a real thing."
"Yes, I believe you." Thoughtful switches quickly into cross.
"So what do you think?"
"I think I want to think on it." He grabs one of the pillows by the corner and swings it into Vox's head.
"Hey- fuck!" He glares, grumbles. "Well you seem to be feeling better."
"You're not..." Alastor's smile shifts into more of a grimace. "Angry?"
"Sweet of you to care." He lets his fingers drift up to rub the soft base of one of Alastor's ears, trying not to smile too hard as Alastor leans into the touch, eyes half closing. "I'm not angry." Alastor's cheek rests against his palm, fingers still rubbing and scritching; his ear is soft, warm, relaxed now. "Maybe, if you want to, we can try and figure out what you do like... like this."
"Hm. Maybe."
"Al?"
"Hm?"
"Can I kiss you?"
"You may." He smiles wanly, and when their lips meet Vox breathes a contented sigh.
It's enough.
If this is all it ever is, it's enough.