#Alastor/Vox | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macabr3-barbi3 · 2 months

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500 Followers Fic #1 🥳

Helloooooo everyone!

Welcome to our first fic for the 500 followers bonus:

(Banner by the lovely talented amazing @fraugwinska while I attempt to learn how to use Canva lol)

Tags: one bed only; frotting; Alastor-typical manipulation; ‘unrequited’ feelings

first attempt at RadioStatic, I hope you all enjoy!

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Coming into the room that Alastor had booked for the two of them on their way to some sort of antique convention the other man wanted to drag him to, Vox had solid proof that they were in Hell. Because really, how cliche could it get?

“Hmm,” Alastor muses beside him, a step in front and unable to see the warning messages that were flashing across Vox’s screen before he could get them under control as he looks at the king-sized bed that takes up nearly all of the miniscule room- no couch, hardly any space between the bed and the walls. “It would appear that the establishment has made a mistake! Let’s see if they can correct it, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, Alastor places a hand on his arm and drags him into the shadows, rematerializing in the Hotel Lobby- and fuck, Vox doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of that. “Good evening, my dear! It would seem that my reservation was made incorrectly- we were supposed to have two beds in our lodgings, but there appears to only be one.”

He throws an arm around Vox’s shoulder, drags him closer so he can feel the warmth of his chest through his suit. “As charming as my little picture box here is, I was not planning on sharing a bed with him. How can we rectify this?” The smile that he gives the young woman is wide and dangerous, sharp teeth glinting in the shitty light over the desk as he stares her down.

The desk attendant, to her credit, doesn’t cower. Either she simply doesn’t know who Alastor is to know that she should fear him, or she’s brave. Or stupid, which was basically the same thing. Rather than watching the actual threat in the room, her eyes dart over to Vox- whatever she notices, it makes her smile in a way that he doesn’t trust when she turns back to Alastor. “Let me see what I can do, sir.” She hits a few keys on the ancient computer that sits in front of her, scrolling before she huffs out a breath that blows her bangs out of her face. “My sincerest apologies, sir- I’m not sure how the reservation got messed up, but all of our other rooms are booked and the king is all we have. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience- let me adjust the room rate to a double as part of the compensation, and when my manager comes in tomorrow I’ll see what else we can do for you!”

The sound of radio feedback fills the room like a fog, screeching and harsh, and Alastor starts to change- his neck cracks to one side, the dial pupils coming to life and ticking menacingly at the attendant, and fuck, he’s about to bust the chandelier-

“Whoa, whoa, Al! Come on, she’s just doing her job- we can live with one bed for the night, right? It’s not ideal but we’ll manage it.” He has to stand a bit on his tiptoes to place his palm against Alastor’s shoulder, but the motion seems to calm him a little- he shrinks back down to his normal size, the shrieking feedback fading a bit when Alastor looks at him and acquiesces.

He turns back to the attendant, who still looks completely unphased. “I expect the room to be fully compensated,” he tells her, and she doesn’t even bat an eye. “And rest assured that I will be speaking with your manager in the morning personally. Lead the way!” He directs to Vox, and the young woman at the desk flutters her fingers in a wave at them with a small, satisfied smirk in place.

Back in the room he had tried to compromise, offered to sleep in the tub- fuck, he would sleep under the bed if he needed to, to avoid making Alastor uncomfortable- but the Radio Demon was having none of it. “No reason for either of us to be put out because the hotel made a mistake,” he had claimed, chipper and grinning as always despite the situation.

So twenty minutes later finds Vox in the bathroom, fresh out of the shower and nearly hyperventilating, overpowering the fans in his head trying not to think about being in the same bed as Alastor; he was failing miserably- all he could picture in his head was the long plane of hard, tan-furred skin and firm muscles that would shift and tense as he made himself comfortable. What if they accidentally touched? What if Vox rolled over in his sleep in the dead of night and clung to the other man like his body pillow? What if-

Fuck his afterlife, what if Alastor slept naked?

Even if that was normally the case there was no way he would do so with another person in the bed, Vox reasons with himself, splashing his neck with some cool water for some semblance of calm before he exits the bathroom- he’s only a little disappointed to know that he was correct when he spots Alastor already spread across the left side of the bed, red silk pajamas hanging delicately off his slender frame as his crimson eyes scanned the pages of a book he held in his hand. “That side is all yours,” he says, his voice low and sleepy, and Vox wishes he had thought to bring a thicker pair of pajama pants because how the fuck was he supposed to hide an erection in the silk ones he had on? He crosses the room as quickly as he can, settling onto the opposite side of the bed and still not looking at his friend as he tries to will the blood in his lower half back to his brain.

“I’m sorry if this is weird,” he mutters, and Alastor tuts at him before snapping his book closed; he can feel the weight of the other man’s eyes on his back even without looking at him. He’s always so aware where Alastor’s attention is, wishing desperately that it would only ever be directed at him.

“No need to apologize,” Alastor says, soft and sweet, and shit, Vox really needs to get under the covers and facing downward or something so his dick isn’t tenting the fucking comforter. “It was an error on the Hotel’s part, not ours. We can handle one night, old pal.” With a snap of his fingers the lights are out, the only illumination now from Vox’s screen against the wall before he slowly shifts to slip under the covers, turning down his brightness in a last ditch attempt to make sure that Alastor doesn’t catch sight of the erection he’s sporting just at his voice. “We have lots to accomplish tomorrow- sleep well, Vox.”

It was truly remarkable, how Alastor could fall asleep within minutes, his breath evening out and coming in steady movements of his chest next to Vox. It took him a few minutes longer, fidgeting in the darkness and trying to will his body to behave, making sure to keep plenty of space between them. This is fine, he told himself. A bed this big has plenty of room for two people- there’s no reason to be afraid you’ll suddenly find yourself across the span of the bed by morning. He didn’t shift around much in his sleep, usually beginning and ending his nights in the same position- having a flat head didn’t leave him room for a lot of sleeping positions besides ‘facing up’ and ‘facing down.’ As long as they both kept to their own sides of the bed everything would be fine.

He stays up a good while longer, just listening to Alastor breathe and reminding his unruly limbs to keep his hands to his damn self. When he’s convinced, hours later, that he’s not going to accidentally drift towards Alastor like a giant magnet, he decides to call it a night, calming his anxiety by making sure the steady sound of Alastor’s breathing matches his own as he slips into uneasy sleep.

His dreams aren’t anything out of the ordinary- he dreams of his friend, sitting at the head of the bed and beckoning him closer as he slides a hand down his bare torso to cup himself. His eyes slip closed, a rough moan tumbling from his lips and Vox physically cannot bring himself to look away from the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The sound repeats, and this time Vox is stirred enough from his sleep to realize that it had not, in fact, come from the depths of his mind, but from mere centimeters away from his screen’s audio ports.

He hadn’t moved during the night. Alastor, however, had crossed the expanse of the bed in the hours between them falling asleep; one arm propped beneath his head, and the other was draped dangerously low across Vox’s abdomen. He was practically on top of him, his chest making full contact with Vox’s arm and the left side of his body, his face resting softly on the curve of Vox’s shoulder just under the corner of his screen.

Vox tried to shift slightly away, to preserve his friend’s dignity. Alastor was a profoundly private man, if he woke up knowing that Vox had seen him like this- had unconsciously touched him like this- it seemed like the absolute minimum would be the ending of their friendship. The movement made Alastor mumble in his sleep, clutching Vox even tighter, his hips repositioning in such a way that Vox could now feel the outline of his hard cock against his thigh.

Vox freezes, something in his head popping loudly. When he risks a sideways glance, Alastor’s face is contorted, the hand draped across his stomach dropping a few inches and grasping blindly at the fabric of Vox’s pajama pants before releasing, a shaky breath ghosting across his face and fogging his screen slightly.

This was so, so wrong- he couldn’t just lay here and let his friend essentially grope him in his sleep!

… Could he?

No, Alastor would see that as a huge violation. He would be horrified when he woke up, that Vox hadn’t stopped him or moved away while Alastor was having a vulnerable moment. He had never shown any sort of interest in anything sexual before, this was likely just some biological function that Al couldn’t help, might not even be aware of. He would feel betrayed and never trust Vox again, and that’s the thought that has him slowly trying to slide out of the bed, feet first.

Another sleepy moan, this one accompanied by the light push of Alastor’s hips into his side once again, and Vox panics. He tries to roll out of the demon’s lazy embrace, only to make a couple startling realizations.

The first is that Alastor is a bed hog- the single half rotation that Vox does to escape puts him not just at the edge of the bed, but over it. He had been incorrect in assuming that he hadn’t moved in the night; in his journey across the mattress Alastor had managed to shove Vox to the side as well, pushing him to the very edge of the bed.

The second realization is that Alastor’s arm draped across his waist had a much tighter grip than anticipated. Or maybe it was just an unfortunate angle. Or maybe this exact moment was Vox’s real Hell, and everything up until now had been a test to see what the most god awful situation would be for him to be subjected to, and now he was going to be forced to live in this moment for eternity. Whatever it was, when Vox rolled, he took Alastor with him.

He narrowly avoided bashing his screen off the nightstand, and there was a yelp of shock as Alastor awoke to the impact of them both hitting the narrow stretch of floor beside the bed. Vox tried to wiggle out from under him, succeeding only in smacking his head off the wall as he tried to free himself. Alastor looked confused, red eyes still seemingly bleary with sleep as he blinked rapidly to try and get a sense of what was happening. Tangled in the sheets as he was, Vox wasn’t able to separate their bodies; Alastor’s single-handed grip on his hip tightening when Vox- again- manages to slam his head into the wall. He swears, only distantly aware and thankful that there are no jagged cracks splintering his face, and in the next moment he’s pinned uncomfortably below Alastor between the wall and the bed, his friend’s eyes dark.

“Would you care to explain yourself, Vox?”

“Sorry,” he gasps out, his heart pounding out of his chest looking up at Alastor. Fuck, he was sexy. His hair was mussed from sleep, little red lines marking his face from the creases of the pillow, his silk pajama bottoms had ridden down slightly in his sleep and when Vox looked down he could see the deep V of Alastor’s pelvis above where their hips were pressed even more fully into Vox’s in his efforts to stop him from moving. Their erections are slotted alongside one another, his own apparently not realizing yet that this was a fucking disaster, Alastor’s still lost in the throes of whatever dream he had been having. “Sorry,” he repeats stupidly.

Alastor watched him carefully. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t explain why you have dragged me from the comforts of the bed to the floor with you,” he says, his voice a soft hiss in the limited space between them, and when Vox’s cock jerks at the sound he prays to any deity or being that can hear him that Alastor didn’t feel it.

“I didn’t mean to,” he defends, clenching his eyes shut and willing his hard-on away. “You were over on my side of the bed and fucking- grabbed me, I was trying to get out of your way, you just kinda… came with me.”

“Oh Vox,” Alastor mutters, sounding frustrated, and just as Vox is silently saying his prayers- since Alastor was going to fucking kill him- he’s choking on his vocal processors when Alastor presses down, a slow grind of his hips that has their cocks sliding together with a whisper of silk between them. “Funnily enough, I haven’t ‘come’ at all. And after I went to all the trouble of creating the perfect opportunity for you, even.”

“What do you-”

With a snap of his fingers, they’re deposited on the bed, the feeling not dissimilar to the sensation of ‘falling’ from a dream as Alastor properly straddles his legs, his hands spreading across the planes of Vox’s chest, sharp claws careful as they trail down his abdomen and tease at the waistband of his pajama pants. “Al, what are you doing?” Vox asks incredulously, afraid to even blink in case this is some high-definition fantasy he’s concocted. He watches wide-eyed as Alastor uses a single hand to undo the buttons of his own shirt, the soft fur of his chest exposed bit by bit, and Vox feels the drool leaking from his slack jaw, can’t bring himself to care as it pools on his chest.

“I hadn’t realized you were such a gentleman,” Alastor says, almost like he’s irritated by the fact. “Here I was, presenting a prime chance for you to confess your silly little feelings or make some sort of move, bribing the young woman at the front desk to keep us in close quarters, and you offer to sleep in the tub. Honestly, Vox, what am I going to do with you?”

“You fucking- you planned this?” He meets Alastor’s eyes while he pulls at the waistband of Vox’s pants, letting his hand dip inside, and he can’t help the harsh groan that escapes him at the feeling of Alastor’s calloused fingers against the sensitive skin of his cock as he releases him from the confines of fabric.

There’s a hum of static. “Of course I did,” he agrees. “You think I would have given up in the lobby so easily had I been truly distraught? An actual error like that in any other situation and I would have devoured the entire staff of the place.”

What the fuck is wrong with him, that his dick twitches at that? And Alastor notices, of course he does, and tightens his grip, starting a soft, steady stroke over Vox’s heated flesh. “Ah, you’ve always been more forgiving of my more sadistic tendencies- one of the many reasons I prefer your company to others.” He lets his other hand trace patterns over Vox’s chest while he tugs at his cock, the pressure of his hand fucking perfect and slick from the precum that Vox has no control over, leaking from his tip and making everything easier for Alastor. He can already feel the tightening of his balls as a warning, his orgasm approaching too quickly with Alastor’s ministrations even before the beautiful bastard opened his mouth and started talking. “Tell me, friend, would acting on your feelings have been easier if I had come to bed wearing the blood of those that inconvenienced us?”

Vox growls low in his throat, the tension in his abdomen coiling at the thought, his entire body taut, muscles clenched under Alastor. “Fuck, Al, I’m not- I was trying to be considerate, you fucking prick-” His voice simply stops working when Alastor shifts his hips down a bit, shoving at his own waistband to free his straining erection- which is fucking perfect and delicious and Vox wants everything- before bringing it into alignment with Vox’s. His hand wraps around both of them and gives a firm stroke, silky skin sliding together and the friction is too fucking good, hot and hard lengths pressing against one another in Alastor’s hold.

When the other man furrows his eyebrow in concentration and fucking spits into his own hand, the wetness of it warm from his mouth before he slicks it down both of their cocks, Vox’s muscles tense, his orgasm a hair trigger away- he tries to warn him.“W̧̤̤͇̣̥͂͐a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛, s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅh̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛,- oh fuck, Alastor, I̡̨͙͙̪̹̾͟'m̰̰̹͚̙̂ͦ͗͠ g̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥn̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎-”

“Don’t you dare,” Alastor breathes, and the fingers that have been warm and curious over his skin disappear, vanishing into the dark space between their bodies- and then there’s a careful hand cupping his balls and squeezing softly, not so much pulling Vox back from the edge as he was dangling him over a cliff with a hand fisted in his shirt. “You’ll come with me or not at all.”

The way he says that doesn’t fucking help, but Vox figures his only option now is too get Alastor right on that edge with him. He finally wills his hands into doing something besides clinging to the mattress for dear afterlife, shoves a hand into Alastor’s hair and drags him down to his face so he can kiss him, lick into his mouth while his other hand explores as the deer’s had- over the curve of his spine, the dip of his hip, finally gripping tightly at the plush flesh of his ass and pulling down, trying to get as close to him as possible. The angle makes Alastor’s knuckles push uncomfortably into Vox’s stomach as he tries to keep his hands moving, the faint ache of it helping to distract him from the pleasure that burns through his body, prolonging the moment that he still wasn’t positive wasn’t just a dream.

When his fingers brush against the tiny antlers that grow out of Alastor’s head, he gives a full body tremble and moans into Vox’s mouth, his hips stuttering hard where they’re pressed together, the lower hand releasing its grip on Vox’s sack to dig his claws into his thighs, piercing through the fabric and leaving pinpoints of blood in his wake.

“Fuck, Al,” Vox mumbles, and at the sound of his name Alastor groans, pulling away from Vox’s mouth and trailing sharp little bites and kisses along his collarbone. His screen is flickering, error messages about a heat warning that he dismisses in favor of focussing on here and now, Alastor fisting their cocks together and grinding down into him, leaving marks on his skin that he can touch in the morning, evidence that Alastor had wanted him, had fucking planned for something like this to happen when he booked the hotel. “F̼̼͓̙ͤ̋̅̚͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔, I̡̨͙͙̪̹̾͟ n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓- please, Al, come on, come with me-”

Alastor comes up from his perusal of Vox’s skin, eyes half lidded and dark, his tone snarky like he wasn’t moment away from ruining both their sets of silk pajamas. “If you in- insist.”

(Vox considers it to be a personal failure that he can even speak through the pleasure; maybe next time- fuck, he hopes there’s a next time- he can really take his time, devolve Alastor into a mess of overstimulated nerve endings and shivering gasps as he brings him to orgasm over and over and over again; licking down the length of his body, sucking his cock, turning him over and using his tongue-

For now though he relishes in the fact that Alastor- Radio Demon, smooth talking charmer, ever reliant and proud of his control over his voice- stutters on his words.)

It takes a moment longer, another couple of thrusts and strokes over where they’re pressed together and Alastor is coming- a hoarse cry of Vox’s name on his lips as he spills across his fingers, his release making everything hot and slick around Vox’s cock as well. He wills his body to slow long enough to see the fucking vision of Alastor coming first, the way that his skin flushes down to where the light fur of his chest starts, how his eyes clench shut and lashes flutter as he tries to breathe through the way his body tenses and releases, hips still grinding down rhythmically against Vox’s.

He’s glad he takes that time to watch, because before Alastor has even had a chance to catch his breath Vox comes so hard the whole hotel blinks offline, the room and the faint light of the hallway going dark like someone has flicked a switch as everything goes black.

When Vox powers back on, Alastor is standing by the door to the hotel room with it cracked- “To be fair, my dear, I did tell you that a power outage was possible,” he’s saying, and when Vox properly sits up to peek through the door he sees the desk attendant from earlier. “It’s hardly my fault that you failed to plan accordingly when I gave you all the information you needed to be successful.”

He’s wearing different pants, Vox realizes, and his shirt has been done up properly again which probably means they wouldn’t be continuing tonight. He allows himself a moment longer to appreciate the lean frame of Alastor’s body, and when he catches sight of the fucking tail that peeks out over his waistband, partially hidden by the shirt, he can’t help the wide grin that takes over his face.

“You said it might be ‘a minor short-circuit,’ not taking out the whole damn block-” She catches his eye under Alastor’s arm and he feels his face heat, screen tinting pink when she shoots him a wink, sighing and looking back at Alastor. “God, you’re lucky I’m a sucker for this trope. Whatever, I guess I’ll handle the manager when he asks. You two have fun,” she calls with a cheeky wave to Vox, and when Alastor closes the door and shadow-shifts back into the bed beside him, his face is irritated.

“So,” Vox begins, and Alastor claps a hand across his screen- which does nothing to stop his words, instead letting them come from the speakers in the back of his head. “You planned this whole thing thinking that, what- I was going to be so overcome with lust for you that I would jump your bones because we happened to be sleeping in closer proximity than normal?”

The red tint returns to Alastor’s skin, pointedly looking away from him as a blush spreads across his face. “I thought that if you awoke to find me clinging to you in my sleep you would realize that your feelings are not unreciprocated,” he sniffs indignantly. “I didn’t know you would be so noble about it all and panic-trip out of the bed.”

The smile Vox wears is both fond and irritated. “Fucking idiot,” he says with no malice. “Satan forbid I try to be a decent person because I didn’t know you were interested. In the future- I guess if you want to do, you know, this,” he adds, gesturing between their bodies, “just be clear about it? You don’t have to plot with some desk clerk to trick me into sharing a bed with you in some half assed attempt to get me to confess.”

“Is that so? Well, then…” He leans in close to Vox, one hand resting on his thigh and the other cupped softly around the back of his neck, lips trailing against the outer casing of his screen as he whispers, thoughts and ideas and promises that have him hard and aching in his pajama pants (he notes that Alastor hadn’t bothered to fix his) in mere minutes, arousal sitting hot and heavy in his gut. When Alastor finally shows mercy and relents, retreating to his own side of the bed, his smile is triumphant, dangerous, sexy as all Hell. “Is that clear enough for you, my dear?”

“Crystal clear,” Vox agrees, and pulls Alastor back across the expanse of the mattress to meet his lips again.

So while I was going over the analytics for the poll, I realized that I could see what characters were voted for together in addition to the general total for a character; a few pairings were requested more frequently than others, so I decided to work with the top three pairings first 😉

The most requested pairing overall was Alastor/Vox (7 votes together), so here is my first ever attempt at RadioStatic with the most popular trope, which was ‘only one bed.’ A little fluff, a little smut, a lot of self indulgent writing bc this is personally my favorite trope as well 🤣

Next fic for the follower bonus will be a Valentino/Reader (6 votes together) followed by Vox/Reader (5 votes)

THANKS AGAIN TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED ON THE POLL AND WHO FOLLOWS ME, ALL OF YOU ARE WONDERFUL AND GREAT 💙❤️

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #vox #vox x alastor #radiostatic #one bed trope #alastor/vox #radio static #I LOVE EVERY ONE OF YOU GUYS

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miz-blue · 5 months

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Hazbin Hotel fanfic/fanart: Desperate Maneuvers (part 1 of 4?)

Title: Desperate Maneuvers (part 1 of 4?)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Rating: PG-13

Pairing(s): Alastor/Vox

Summary: (Regency AU) The once prestigious LeClaire family has of late fallen on trying times. So trying, as it happens, that the family's eldest son, Lord Alastor, begrudgingly agrees to enter into an arranged marriage with a wealthy commoner, a Mr. Voxley Smythe.

Notes: Part 1 of this fic was written for the Bapple's Orchard discord server's regency era AU collab, Pride Ring and Prejudice. (Server run by @bapple117.) This was originally supposed to be a contained scene, but I think it'll have two more parts plus an epilogue. If you find this post through a reblog, then check back to the original post which I will update with links as the other parts are finished. The story is also on AO3 too if you'd rather follow there.

This fic is a Regency AU, more or less. However, my regency knowledge is rather rusty, and also the setting is like some weird mash-up of canon and regency England. i.e. All the characters are still demons, and there's at least a little magic. And yes, Vox still has a TV head; it is what it is. Also, also same-sex marriage is totally fine, lol; the drama and angst come from classism and the characters being emotionally constipated.

A brief note on ages, Alastor is 30, and Vox is 28.

Fic is under the cut, and I also drew the end scene of part 1.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"Aunt Rosie, this is degrading," Alastor protested softly, still seated on the padded leather bench of the coach. "I have no wish to be a public spectacle." He could hear the distant sounds of people as well as the faintest strains of music, and Alastor, previously inured to his fate, now found himself possessed of a certain anxiety, fluffy ears pinned back against his head.

His aunt sighed, expression sympathetic but strained. "Alastor, dearest, I need you to step down from this carriage. Right now." Rosie was already on the ground having been assisted by a footman. "The other coaches need to come through, and you are holding up the line."

Alastor took a shaky breath to steady his nerves before sliding closer to the door, but he showed no sign of exiting. Ever a font of patience, his long suffering aunt gentled her tone. "Alastor, for me, please, come out. Why, I hardly recognize anyone here so I doubt they'll recognize us!" It was such a baldfaced lie, unbefitting of any lady but especially one of Rosie's status. However, the falsehood did give Alastor enough momentary hope that when Rosie extended her hand to her only nephew's elbow, he permitted her to carefully but insistently tug him from the coach.

In the next moment, Alastor had set foot on the carefully tended gravel pathway to Battlehill Manor. "Good luck, sir," Husk called from the driver's seat, and Alastor spared him a tight nod before the cat demon was obliged to drive on. Husk was also Alastor's valet and sometimes butler--the LeClaires struggled to keep staff ever since the incident seven years ago.

Now truly abandoned to the capricious whims of fate, Alastor squared his shoulders and faced the stately manor ahead of them. It would seem there was no way out but through. Composing himself as best he could, Alastor offered his arm to his aunt who graciously accepted, allowing him to lead them to the manor entrance even though they both knew the way. The Carmines were distant cousins so Alastor had visited their estate several times as a child, though no invitation had been extended for some time. No, even tonight's festive occasion had less to do with Alastor and more to do with his intended husband, a certain Mr. Voxley Smythe. The two men were to meet tonight and announce their engagement. Lady Carmine was graciously hosting the ball on Voxley's behalf since he had no land or title of his own. What he did have, apparently, was a very lucrative business deal with the Carmines.

Lady Carmilla herself was there to greet them in the foyer. "Lord Alastor, Lady Rosie," she nodded respectfully to them both. "A pleasure to see you as always."

Another unnecessary falsehood. Alastor smiled through it, greeting her in kind. "We must kindly thank you again for your assistance in this matter and apologize for any trouble it may have caused."

She smiled politely back. "No trouble at all, Lord Alastor. Indeed, all the guests seem to be in high spirits."

The three demons made pleasant enough small talk for a few minutes before Rosie inquired after Alastor's betrothed. "Has Mr. Smythe arrive yet by chance?"

"No, alas, he is late," Carmilla replied with the faintest whiff of irritation. "Some important business or other. He is often engaged in work."

"Ah, that is quite alright then," Rosie said sweetly. "We'll go in, shall we? We ought not keep you from your other guests."

Carmilla stepped aside so that the two aristocrats might step past her. "Yes, please enjoy yourselves. I believe the dancing has already begun."

Alastor and Rosie both expressed their delight again before stepping into the hall proper. As soon as Carmilla was sufficiently far away, Alastor immediately set his sights to criticisms.

"He isn't even here yet? I cannot believe my situation has come to this," Alastor whispered, sotto voce. He almost needn't have bothered. Every soul around the two LeClaires was giving them a wide berth as if they were stricken with some loathsome contagion.

"Now Alastor, try to seek out a happy moment or two--for Nifty's sake if not your own. A dance even! Your dear little sister would love to be here. Ah, if she had her way, she'd debut tomorrow, the scamp."

Alastor scowled for only a second before schooling his face back to its proper smile. "Then let Nifty marry; she's the poor soul who actually desires such a union." If Alastor had his way, he would have chosen to never marry at all. After the deaths of his parents, his dowager aunt had resumed the mantle of family head while Alastor had been preoccupied with his school studies. At present, the two demons shared the load--meager as it was now--until such a time as it could be passed to Nifty or her future children.

Regardless of the gravity of their words, Rosie's serene countenance never wavered as the two LeClaires meandered around the outskirts of the party. "Nifty's enthusiasm for matrimony is commendable, but she's yet several years too young, and we are facing financial destitution now. And since that's your fault, dear, I am going to need your help fixing it." Her voice was a calm but ironclad murmur that only Alastor could hear. "Furthermore, Nifty's prospects are hardly ideal. Your present sacrifice may yet wipe some of the stain off our family name."

"How noble of spirit I must be," Alastor quipped dryly.

"Please, Alastor."

Lord, how it pained him to disappoint her. "You actually liked Uncle Franklin," he said sullenly nonetheless.

She laughed with genuine mirth at that. "Your late uncle and I were lucky, dear. Mayhaps you might be too. Stranger things have come to pass."

"Hmm, perhaps." Luck had thus far evaded Alastor, and he rather much doubted that he ought to find it in the arms of some crass lout, but he would soldier on regardless. He did not wish to ruin his aunt's night with needless quarrels.

Rosie walked with him until they had reached a long row of chairs set against the main hall's far wall. A number of guests sat at varying intervals, some catching their breath from dancing and others waiting earnestly to be asked. "Will you be alright here for a bit, Alastor?" Rosie inquired as he took a seat. "Since Mr. Smythe is not yet arrived, I was hoping to catch up with Earl Zestial..."

Ever the dutiful nephew, Alastor kept his forced smile in place and waved her on. "No need to concern yourself with my moods, Aunt Rosie. I suspect none shall endeavor to move me from my seat."

She offered one last rueful smile before disappearing into the slowly growing crowd. Alastor was left to lean against the wall, listen to the music, and try to remain calm. As he suspected, while some in attendance shot him curious or apprehensive looks, no one dared approach him. Alastor cast his eye about too, wondering if he might find his intended before Rosie did--or rather that the other demon would find him. Uncaring of the engagement proceedings, Alastor had no idea what this Voxley looked like and only knew a little of his exploits.

Yes, his soon-to-be husband, Voxley Smythe, some upstart commoner who had made a fortune for himself expanding trade routes for the East India Company before returning to England and making his fortune twice-over in various newfangled factories. And now—like some bloated carrion bird—he had come seeking a nest to roost in and a title to go with it. Of course, what better way to secure said estate and title than to marry for it?

In this rapidly churning industrial age, destabilized aristocrats teetering on the edge of financial insolvency were hardly scarce. Alastor had merely thought his infamous reputation would've kept him off the bargaining table. Either this Voxley didn't know about the rumors concerning Alastor's involvement with the royal family, or more likely, he didn't care. Surely the man could not be so unseemly that only Alastor would have him? In truth, the deer demon did not know. After initially consenting to the written proposal, Alastor had left the matter of negotiations entirely to Rosie.

Fortunately for the LeClaire family, Voxley had no children of his own, and his and Alastor's union would not produce any; thus Nifty would still remain the next in line to inherit what was left of the family's property and good name. Voxley's monetary contributions would keep the LeClaires afloat and replenish their coffers, and in return the man could leverage all the political and social benefits that came with a noble rank. In some manner, it was a relief that Alastor was simply a means to an end, not a desirable aspect himself. A prickly and solitary composer, the young aristocrat had hardly been overburdened with social ties even before his fall from grace. With any luck, Voxley would spend most of his time in London overseeing his various business enterprises and leave Alastor in peace at his ancestral home in the countryside.

Alastor cast a wary look about the large room once more. Zounds, what was taking the man so long? Imagine being late to a party in one's honor; Alastor found it rude and ungentlemanly.

Although��allowing himself a little ungentlemanly moment as well, Alastor at last gave into the desire to be elsewhere. No one stopped him as he slipped out of the spacious drawing room, up a small staircase, and down a side hall towards where he knew a veranda should still be, assuming Carmilla hadn't made any recent renovations to the manor. But no, it was still there.

Alastor sighed, leaning on the thick balcony railing and glancing out over the dark countryside. Every so often the moon would peek out from behind the clouds, bathing well-maintained gardens and the distant woods in a silvery glow. Crickets chirped faintly, and Alastor could hear the dance music from downstairs, the windows having been opened to the cool, spring night air. The young aristocrat drummed his fingers to the beat of a violin solo, feeling the distant echo of his own magical powers but as ever, he was unable to summon them. So lost in thought was Alastor that he scarcely noticed an interloper on his solitude.

"Hey."

Red ears perked up and swiveled, and Alastor's eyes widened at the familiar voice. Turning around, his gaze beheld some strange amalgamation--a ghost of his past decked out like an omen from the future. The Victor Owens now before him was a far cry from the timid, obsequious clockmaker's apprentice that Alastor had for some time befriended whilst studying at Eton. Now Victor moved with easy confidence, walking towards Alastor as if he had every right to do so. More surprisingly was the other demon's clothing. He looked like a proper gentleman now, smartly tailored in the latest fashion of London. Alastor felt vaguely embarrassed for his own expensive but now threadbare suit, but something new had been a bit out of his means at the moment.

Alastor forced himself to incline his head politely which Victor did in kind. "My, but it has been some time since last we spoke." Since last we fought, Alastor thought, remembering their messy parting of ways nearly a decade ago. Though he had seen Victor about town after that day, the two of them had pointedly ignored each other. Then when Alastor had gone from Eton, he had scarcely thought of Victor at all. University studies of music and sorcery at Oxford and later a more...specialized tutelage in Windsor had kept him busy. At least until everything had fallen apart.

"It has been some years, yes." The slightly younger demon came over to the balcony, leaning against it too.

Alastor nodded in acknowledgment, but otherwise he had nothing to say to his former 'friend' and thus allowed the brief conversation to lapse into awkward silence. However, Victor did not quit his presence, and so the two demons stared out into the dark countryside together.

"Are you alright?" Victor inquired after a moment, politely neutral. "You seem a bit...harrowed."

Alastor managed a thin smile. So they would be playing the part of amiable old acquaintances then? Very well. "Alas, I've been better. I am to be engaged, you see." If Victor was moving in more prestigious circles nowadays, then no doubt he was already aware of the general outline of Alastor's situation if not its full extent.

"Usually engagements are happy occurrences…" the other demon prompted, a subtle invitation for Alastor to elaborate.

"Not this one," Alastor obliged, voice laced with an undercurrent of misery. And yet it was perversely satisfying to air his grievances so freely to someone, especially someone like Victor who did not require Alastor to put on airs. "The situation is utterly not of my choosing. Sold off like so much livestock to some repellent stranger."

"Aren't arranged marriages par for the course for your sort?" Victor apparently couldn't help but jibe. "I'm sure he can't be that bad, especially when you don't even know him."

"Oh please, what's to know?" Alastor's clawed fingertips tapped irritably on the glossy marble. "He's a boorish, vulgar social climber. You'd know the sort."

Victor glared at him, gentlemanly facade starting to slip--as Alastor had hoped it might. "Would I now? And is that what you'd say about me too? A disgrace too poor in breeding to be considered for an aristocrat's hand?" Victor glanced shyly away. "For your hand?"

Alastor laughed, finally in better spirits now that he had been presented with such easy prey. "Yes, I see you've come up in the world a bit yourself. Still not over your little flight of fancy for me though, hmm? Well, I certainly wouldn't have married you either way, old pal."

Victor's face flushed angrily. "No, you wouldn't have. You're more the type who keeps his lower class friends like a dirty secret and then discards them to save face."

Alastor felt a twinge of guilt at that but hid it well. "It's not my fault you insisted on reaching above your station, my dear."

The other demon composed himself with some effort. "I have a station now myself," he retorted tersely.

"And money, I'm sure, if your gaudy attire is any indication. All of which is merely like gilding brass. Simply scratch the surface and the cheap base material shows through." Alastor smiled meanly at Victor's hurt expression. Yes, this was why they couldn't be friends--why it didn't pay to befriend anyone from the lower class. Alastor had always wondered if Victor liked him or merely wished to be close to someone of his rank. "Regardless you're too late anyway. As I stated earlier, I am spoken for. Though even if I wasn't, I still wouldn't take up with you."

"Fine, fuck you, Alastor. I see you haven't changed at all in your last seven years as a hermit. Still just a prick with an overinflated ego."

Alastor feigned an offended gasp. "You really are a vile and insignificant little man," he replied with a pitying laugh. "Now leave me be. A proper gentleman should know when his presence is undesirable." The aristocrat made a vague shooing gesture to which Victor offered a far more vulgar gesture of his own before storming off back into the manor.

Once his former companion had departed, Alastor slumped back against the balcony railing with a sigh. Where he should have felt satisfied amusement, there was only cloying melancholy. The crickets and the violins no longer offered any solace, but returning to the party would be far worse. In truth, Alastor had been so long out of public that the presence of so many people now unexpectedly grated upon his nerves, and he wished only to return home to sweet sepulchral silence or perhaps the playing of his own hands upon his piano. Alas, like many things Alastor desired, it was not to be. At least sequestered here on the veranda he would not need to endure so many eyes upon his person.

However, Alastor was scarcely left alone for another ten minutes before Rosie came looking for him, heels clicking smartly on the tiled floor. "Alastor! There you are! Honestly now, I had to ask several servants before one knew where you'd gone." She began smoothing out his cravat and jacket, clucking at him like a mother hen.

"I was just taking some air," Alastor said with a sigh, letting her fuss over him. He would never admit it, but the motherly attention was very soothing.

"Avoiding the party, yes, I'm aware," Rosie replied, not fooled in the slightest. "Mr. Smythe has presently arrived though so if you would please come back to the main hall, you may meet him properly."

Alastor's stomached flipped unpleasantly, but he kept his smile affixed to his face. "Oh? Has his highness finally deigned to grace us with his presence?"

Rosie hustled them both back towards the ball as quickly as she could without appearing improper. "Now, Alastor, you've agreed to this matter already. Please try not to immediately offend the poor man."

"Emphasis on 'poor'," Alastor replied caustically, making his aunt sigh in exasperation.

The two aristocrats rejoined the main event, Alastor obligingly offering Rosie his arm again as she led them through the room. There were a number of faces about them that Alastor did not recognize, and he couldn't help but wonder which unfortunate soul he was to be fobbed off to.

They were near the curving, elegant main staircase when Rosie finally appeared to set eyes on the man she was looking for. "Ah, here we are." She turned Alastor around before stepping to the side. Gesturing to the demon coming down the stairs towards them, she said, "Alastor, this is Voxley Smythe."

Victor stopped on the second step from the bottom, smiling down at them. "Just 'Vox' is fine," he said.

Alastor felt his own smile grow painfully tight. Fuck him indeed, apparently.

tbc...

#PrideRingandPrejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs #RadioStatic #StaticRadio #Alastor/Vox #voxal #Vox/Alastor #my writing

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