unhappy_darling
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Summary
Charlie had planted herself in front of Vox and was rambling off an impressive myriad of excuses, from busted pipes to bad Wi-Fi, while he stared at her, hands on his hips, with the utmost expression of forced patience. His black, digital brows were set in a line as straight as the glower at the bottom of his screen. He does a single, slow blink, finger tapping against his hip as he debates on how much money he can reasonably make on a Charlie Morningstar-inspired white-noise machine (and whether the guaranteed customer complaints will be worth the cheap buck) when a movement over her shoulder draws his eyes.
He leans to the side, eyebrow quirking. "What's that?" Then promptly chokes on a surprised noise and shoves Charlie aside. "Holy shit, is that a human?"
Lucifer plays a prank on Alastor.
Everyone else has to deal with the consequences.
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”You’d call everything off right now, just for this?”
Just for this, he says. As though it’s trivial. As though it isn’t everything that Vox has dreamt of every night for the past several decades. As though the rejection doesn’t sting just as sharply every time he wakes up and reaches to the other side of a cold bed, hands searching for a lover that will never be there, and hears callous laughter echoing in the back of his skull.
Vox sucks in a shaky breath, closing his eyes. He tilts his face downward, unable to look at Alastor when he admits it. He almost can’t bring himself to, sure that Alastor is already certain of the answer.
”Yes,” he whispers.
”You can’t be serious,” Alastor says quietly.
~~~~~~
In which many things come to light, all earth-shattering.
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When Vincent does something unexpected Alastor starts to question his feelings for him.
Rosie shows up to lend him a hand, or, much better, an ear.Series
- Part 1 of Serial killers love too
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Vincent watched him with the kind of fixation that disturbed even himself.
He shouldn’t be affected by a smile.
He shouldn’t be affected by a voice.
He shouldn’t be affected by a man.
And yet.
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““How the fuck am I going to get this…” He pulled a bit at Alastor’s very well-buttoned suit jacket, vest, and shirt pointedly. “…off of you with my teeth, without some tearing?”
“Now you’re making it sound like this was my idea, use your never-ending imagination or something. And anyway, it’s in the contract.” Vox closed his eyes with a heavy, heavy sigh, staying silent for a moment to put his head in his hands.
“Alastor, do not tell me you actually wrote up a contract.” “
Leading to:““Enough with the damn brattiness, alright, I’m already fucking you ain’t I?” His screen glitched a bit in anger as Alastor only raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, smile infuriatingly smug, as if his legs weren't currently trembling from how Vox’s cock over and over pushed up right against his prostate.
“Are you?”
This entitled, arrogant, high-maintenance motherfucker.”
Or: A missing smut-scene from ’Misread Signals’
Series
- Part 2 of A killer night