Chapter Text
"For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad." - Luke 8:17
So, it had come to this.
"Wait! Call off your goons!" Alastor blurted, eyes still locked onto Niffty's little face, starring down the barrel of an angelic revolver with a manic grin. She certainly wasn't afraid; in fact, she looked rather excited by the prospect of being shot in the head. Under normal circumstances, Alastor would have been tempted to indulge her masochistic little fantasy, to let things play out and continue the fight. But these weren't normal circumstances; those bullets would be blessed-tipped.
Permanent.
Alastor leveled his gaze back at Vox, a small smile curling at his lips. The expression was meant to be coy, unthreatening, his ears tilting back slightly in a subtle display of mock submission. "I have a proposition for you!" He had wanted to drag things out, really sell the fight before making the offer, but things change. It had to be now, or the consequences could be dire.
Harsh hands tightened around his shoulders, blue-tipped claws digging into tender flesh. "Excuse me?" Vox growled, eyes narrowing to slits. Alastor had to stifle a wince, feeling pinpricks of blood seep into his undershirt.
"Now or never!" The deer demon pressed, singing the words in a tone that was half-playful, half-urgent.
Vox paused, blinking slowly as he processed the words. "Val, hold on." A few cables extended, wrapping around his business partner's arm and tugging it back.
The instant the barrel was no longer pointed Niffty's direction, a small sense of relief washed over Alastor, the feeling of his heart hammering against his ribs easing up ever so slightly. He sighed quietly, expression slipping into something more relaxed, almost casual. "We keep going back and forth, and it's growing really tiresome! Quite boring, actually! And it's making it harder for me to do what I have to do." Alastor hummed, summoning his staff into his hand. Green magic slithered across his chest, glowing stitches weaving into the gapping wound, It was hardly his best work, but it would have to do.
"Yeah, of course! You're trying to talk your way out of this." Vox deadpanned. "Get to the fucking point!" Irritated pheromones oozed off the alpha, the scent of ocean and ozone assaulting Alastor's senses. It was a smell that once brought him comfort; now it merely gave him a headache.
"How about...we make a little deal?" Alastor leaned forward, purposely putting himself into Vox's space. Not close enough to touch, merely to tease. "I'll join your propaganda parade and be your little prisoner! All I ask in exchange is, ooh, two tiny, itty-bitty conditions."
"The fuck is he doin'?" Husk murmured from somewhere in his peripheral, but Alastor's gaze remained locked onto Vox.
The TV demon crossed his arms, eyeing the other with clear distrust. "What conditions?" He asked slowly, voice a mixture of caution and thinly-veiled curiosity. He was asking questions; that was a good sign. Alastor had caught his attention, now he just had to real him in.
"Let these irrelevant little nobodies run along home," Alastor waved a hand vaguely in Niffty and Husk's direction, grabbing Vox's shirt and pulling him closer, "but most importantly, you're not to lay your hands on Charlie Morningstar." The bait was set, would Vox be foolish enough to take it?
The alpha's expression morphed, turning into one of utter disbelief. "Wait, that's it?" A laugh tore from his throat, the sound laced with a soft layer of television static.
"That's it, pretty enticing, isn't it?" This was it, he was going for it, time to seal the deal. Alastor bowed forwards, hand extended as his smile turned devious. "Think of the headlines..." He purred.
More garbled, wheezing laughter rang from Vox's throat as he looked around, hands gripping his monitor with disbelief. The offer was too good; too sweet an opportunity to pass up. And Vox? He had always been so easy to manipulate, too stupid to know when something was too good to be true.
"It's a deal!" His hand shot out, taking Alastor's in a vice-like grip as electricity crackled around them, filling the air with static and warmth. In an instant, invisible weights locked around the Radio Demon's wrists as the ground shook beneath them.
A bargain had been struck, now the real game could begin.
All things considered, Vox's little victory tour could have been worse. With that being said, Alastor still found himself seething with irritation by the time the parades, television appearances, and petty little powerplays came to an end.
He'd spent the better part of the day being carted around, bound to a wheeled chair and muzzled like some dog (a muzzle with a large frown printed upon it, because of course Vox would add a little detail like that). It was embarrassing, certainly, but Alastor found his annoyance to be far more tangible. His ears remained pinned against his scalp, a clear show of his displeasure, and he twitched every time those claws brushed against him. Vox had always been a touchy man, but now that Alastor was at his mercy? Any prior reservations (if there had ever been any to begin with) were gone, and the deer demon found himself with at least once hand on his person at all times.
The fucking creep...
Alastor silently thanked Satan for whoever invented scent patches; without them, he was certain the air would reek of rotting fruit by now. And not just that, but something far more telling, more horrifying.
The smell of distressed omega.
Upon arriving in Hell, nearly a century ago now, Alastor had immediately been met with an ugly surprise.
He had been naive to think his designation would simply go away after death. Why would it? It had been nothing but a pain in the ass while he was alive, what better way to amplify his eternal punishment than to make him continue enduring it for the rest of eternity? And still, he’d foolishly allowed himself to believe it would.
God, he wanted to slap himself in hindsight.
Being an omega was hard enough before, from the blatant sexism to the wretched heats. But now, when he was in literal HELL, constantly surrounded by the worst kinds of alphas imaginable? It was bound to be one hundred times worse.
He’d immediately sought out Rosie, practically groveling for scent-blockers and heat suppressants. It wasn’t his proudest moment, but the stark reality of his situation had set in, sending him into a fit of tunnel-visioned desperation.
Luckily, she’d been far more inclined to help him, then. With minimal convincing, she’d promised a steady supply of scent-blocking patches, heat suppressants to be taken monthly; everything he needed to efficiently pass himself off as a beta.
And so, that’s exactly what he did.
Of all the indecencies to happen to him that day, being forced to watch Vox pound his business partner into the mattress had been the least pleasant. Listening to their grunts and moans, the stench of sex in the air, leaking through the muzzle and burning his nostrils. Alastor had tried to look away, but damn Vox and his exhibitionism, because he was only met with mirrored images displayed on monitors littering every spare inch of wall space. There was no escaping it, so he'd merely endured it, watching on in seething silence.
Vox sat up, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied grunt as the swell of his knot finally began to dissipate. He'd pulled out of the moth at the last second, no doubt not wishing to be stuck within him for the next half-hour. Valentino was no omega; his body wasn't built to take another alpha's knot, though Alastor suspected they had attempted it at least once in the past.
"Why the long face?" The TV demon sneered, standing up with a delighted cackle. Cables stretched out from his back, snatching his trousers off of the floor and slipping them back on. Thank Satan, Alastor couldn't stand looking at Vox's cock for a second longer. He took a drag of a cigarette, inhaling the putrid pink smoke with a contented sigh before reaching out, tugging Alastor's muzzle down.
The Radio Demon had only a moment to process the development before Vox exhaled directly in his face. The smell didn't resemble nicotine in the slightest, instead reeking of alpha pheromones and roses; Valentino's own special concoction. It was an aphrodisiac, or at least meant to be one. He could feel his pupils attempt to dilate, ears twitching as a shiver ran down his spine. If he certainly that if he wasn't dosed up on heavy-duty suppressants, his knees would've buckled.
Even if his brain wasn't interested, his inner omega certainly was.
"Isn't this nice?" Vox crooned, slipping behind Alastor. A few stray cables grabbed ahold of the chair, tugging his captive along as he slowly redressed. The screens cut from live feed to various images; ratings charts, headlines praising the Vees, numerous pictures Vox posing with his new captive (as soon Alastor was free, he was going to destroy all traces of them, even if he had to pry open Vox's processor to do so). "And to think, you could have had all of this, and without the public humiliation! This calls for a celebration!" He glanced to Valentino, waving a hand dismissively. "Leave us, please."
The moth's antennas perked up, face the picture of irritation. "You're kicking me out?"
"You and I will have a private celebration later, I promise."
While the answer didn't seem to satisfy the pimp, he still did as ordered, gathering his clothes under his arm as he slunk out the door, grumbling something under his breath in Spanish.
Alastor rolled his eyes. "Hmm, yes, not like you haven't been celebrating all day..." He grumbled, ear flicking in irritation. Vox ignored the little comment, moving over to his desk and slipping into his chair with a casual grace. "Whiskey? Gin? I can call up and get your a Sazerac?"
The other remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor. The tiles were a deep blue, like the dark depths of the ocean. Fitting, and perhaps the least ugly thing about that wretched tower.
Vox's smile dropped, a claw idly tracing the rim of his whisky glass. "You know, I've waited for this moment for almost seventy years. I'm curious. What makes the princess and her crappy little hotel so great that the RADIO DEMON gives up what little dignity he had left to help out with it? Or, how a guy from the thirties landed in Hell and somehow became one of the most powerful Overlords?" The alpha kicked his legs up, a heel resting beneath Alastor's chin and forcing his gaze back up. "Tell me how."
Alastor's eyes flashed. "Mm, nope. Our deal is for me to be your captive, I don't have to tell you anything." He turned away, head lifted defiantly.
"Seriously? You usually love to run your mouth. But I guess being a BRAT is kind of your THING, isn't it?" Cables latched onto the sides of the chair, spinning Alastor back around and jerking him closer.
A laugh tore from the Radio Demon's throat. "You'd be nothing without those two."
"Excuse me?"
Alastor's expression darkened, eyes glowing in the dim light of the penthouse as shadows coiled around him, twisting about like a kraken's tentacles. "You really haven't changed, have you? Still so reliant on all those around you. Always seeking someone to put up with your incessant-"
Cables wires snapped tightly around his mouth, cutting off his words.
Vox smirked. "You know, I think I prefer the silence." He replied, taking a sip of his whiskey.
Feedback rang out as the speakers overhead roared to life. "What? Don't want to be reminded of how desperate you were for attention? Back then, you and I were as close to equals as I'd imagined down here." Alastor's voice echoed out. The TV demon's eyes widened, gaze snapping back to Alastor. Even with his mouth closed, his voice was still clear as day, teeth glowing a dull gold and flashing with each word. He leaned back in the chair, expression downright smug as he continued. "You had your decent ideas, you were growing your power, and it was almost impressive."
Blue-tipped claws dug into the desk, carving deep trails into the wood.
"And I respected you."
Electricity crackled in the air, making Alastor's hair stand on end, and yet he continued. "And then you went and ruined it. I thought you found me...what was it? Inspiring?" He purred the last word with mock sympathy, head cocking to the side. A sense of delight rose within him as Vox's screen paled, expression a mixture of pain and rage. "Oh, the tantrum you threw...now THAT was entertainment!" Static-laced laughter filled the air. "I did really have to put you in your place, didn't I? Ah...and now you finally have me, but you still rely on others for your power, like always."
For a moment, all was still, and Alastor wasn't sure if the TV demon was going to cry or tear his heart out; either would be lovely.
But then, Vox hunched over his desk, wheezing as an exasperated cackle ripped from his throat. "You still think you're the one in control here? Look around you, Al; I've beaten you!" A hand lurched forward, grabbing Alastor by the throat and hauling him forward, nearly dragging him over the desk. "And you know what? I'm going to enjoy making you watch as I take the power you've worked towards for years in a matter of days. And once I'm finished, I'm going to look you in the eye and slit that pretty little throat..." A single claw stroked down Alastor's neck, following along his pulse point until-
Alastor jerked, breath hitching as his eyes flashed to radio dials. "Get your vile hands off of me!" He growled.
The other snorted. "What, don't like my hand right here? I hate to break it to you, but I-" Vox's words died in his throat, fingers brushing over a gauge outline just beneath the collar of Alastor's shirt. It was square, the edges seemingly rounded, and appeared to be roughly the same consistency as fabric. His brows furrowed, eyes flicking up to meet Alastor's, then back down. "The fuck is that?" He asked, immediately tugging at the uppermost buttons of the undershirt.
Alastor's heart leapt into his throat, eyes widening as he struggled violently against the restraints. "Fuck off! Unhand me, or I swear I will tear your soul from your-" His words were cut off by a shriek of microphone feedback, the sound almost resembling the distressed call of a deer. No, no, no! This wasn't supposed to happen! This COULDN'T happen! He had to stop him, before he-
Vox grew impatient, ripping the shirt open with one sharp tug. Little white buttons scattered across the floor, rolling off in different directions as cool air hit skin. Alastor froze as mismatched eyes fixated on his throat.
"Are those...scent patches?" The TV demon asked incredulously. "The fuck do you need those for? You're just a beta. What, you not like others being able to get a proper smell of you?" He mocked. "Not so easy to hide your emotions when your pheromones are on display, is it?" A claw moved up to one of the patches, slipping just under the edge. No, please no. "Come to think of it, what DO you smell like anyways? Let's see, hm?"
Alastor barely even registered the sting of the patch being ripped off, mind going blank as the air was immediately overpowered by his scent. Bourbon, black cherries, the clear stench of fear.
And something else...
Vox stiffened, inhaling deeply as confusion flashed across his face. "W-What..." He stammered, looking at Alastor in disbelief as a wave of pheromones slammed into him like a truck. "You're..."
Something snapped inside of Alastor, heels scuffing against the floor as some primal urge took over. The urge to flee.
A static-laced laugh tore from Vox's throat, head tipped back as arms his wrapped around his shaking sides. "You're an omega? Seriously? How the fuck didn't I know this? How doesn't EVERYONE know this?" He wheezed. His head tilted forward, burrowing into the crook of Alastor's neck to get another good whiff. "Aw, you're scared, aren't you? No need to be; this is perfect!"
Oh, Alastor really didn't like where this was heading. The alpha looked downright euphoric, pupils blown wide, waves of excited pheromones pouring off of him as he licked his lips. "Back then, when I offered you partnership, I was willing to overlook you being a beta. You were still worthy, even without a tight little pussy to fuck. But now?" A hand moved down, trailing along Alastor's chest. "Now we can REALLY be mates. I can knot you down, like nature intended, put my mark on those glands of yours so everyone knows who you belong to..."
Clawed hands slid down Alastor’s shirt, palming his chest as they sought out his nipples. Vox gave one a little pinch, drawing a hard jolt from the deer demon. “Oho, sensitive tits? How cute.”
Alastor was going to be sick, a lump forming in the back of his throat as his mind screamed at him to RUN.
"I know sinners are sterile, but maybe with a little experimenting, we can even put some pups in that little womb of yours. Would you like that?" One hand slipped further down, beginning to fiddle with the button of Alastor's trousers. "Don't fight this. I can make you feel good, Al. Let me show you what a real alpha can do for you, yeah?
'Don't beg, don't beg...' Alastor repeated over and over; it was the one thought he managed to form through the haze of terror clouding his mind. 'You will not beg this filth for mercy. Just stay quiet, it will be over soon if you don't give him the satisfaction of-'
"Fuck, if you smell this good now, imagine what you'll smell like when the fear is gone and all you can think about is how my knot feels filling your-" Right as Vox's hand was about to dip below his waistband, alarms blared to life around them, all screens turning a noxious red. Vox jerked back, face a mixture of anger and irritation. "Oh, what the fuck is it now?" He growled, freezing in place as he read the words flashing across the screens.
OBJECT APPROUCHING VEE TOWER, IMPACT IMMINANT.
"The fuck?!"
Something slammed into one of the large windows, glass shattering. The force of the hit shook the entire building, knocking Vox off-balance and sending Alastor rolling across the room. The second the alpha's hands were off of him, a sense of relief washed over the deer demon, but the feeling quickly gave way to confusion. What in the seven Hells was that? Was Heaven attacking again? What would have caused them to-
"I believe you have our bellhop, little mortal."
Fuck, why couldn't it have just been an exorcist? Death would have been preferable to being saved by him. Alastor gritted his teeth, adjusting his posture as he turned his gaze to his unwelcome rescuer.
"Your majesty."