Dead Girl Walking | RADIOSTATIC

And You Know, It's Cause You're Beautiful

Vox awoke to sweetness. Borderline sickly, the saccharine smell invaded his artificial senses, mixed with the subtle scent of something else that he couldn't exactly put his finger on.

It was dark, still the middle of the night, and though Vox was tempted to just stay as he was and go back to sleep, curiosity got the better of him, and he hauled himself up into a sitting position.

His heart nearly stopped all over again when he saw a silhouette at the foot of his bed. Though he was no stranger to being awoken by Valentino in the night, this figure looked completely different, aside from the glowing red irises that were staring right at him.

Vox didn't like to say that he was scared easily. No, he could withstand many things that others would be terrified of. Yet he found his hand shaking as he raised it to send a spark of electricity into one of the strips of LEDs that circled his bedroom.

The room was dimly lit with a dark, bluish light, which only made the shadows cast from his furniture appear longer and more intimidating. He regretted both his interior designing and lighting choices as he kicked his bedding away from him in case he needed to fight, before looking up at the figure at the foot of his bed.

Vox wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it surely wasn't the Radio Demon.

Not only that, but Alastor looked a complete mess, chest heaving, hair ruffled, clothes creased, ears drooping, smile contorted into a strained grimace, a thin sheen of sweat across his flushed cheeks, and, best of all, the obvious strain in the crotch of his pants.

Vox was close to believing he was in a dream, resisting the urge to reach across and pinch his own arm just to check that this was reality. After all, it was a situation he had previously thought to be impossible, the kind of self-indulgent scene which played out in the depths of his mind when he was alone on an evening.

But it was all so vivid, every twitch of Alastor's ears, every laboured breath, every detail that would be beyond even Vox's imagination forcing him into the fact it was reality.

He simply sat amidst his loss for words for a moment, trying to both process what was happening and figure out the weird sense of familiarity he was becoming aware of, before it hit him. The undertones of the sugary smell, which he had simply brushed off earlier on, were the complete opposite of unknown to him. After all, he was exposed to it every time he saw Valentino.

All the pieces connected together at once. Alastor's appearance, the fact he'd shown up in the middle of the night, the all-too-familiar smell of Valentino's pheromones...

"What the fuck?" The words which he was intending to keep in the confines of his thoughts slipped out, shock loosening his tongue.

Alastor stumbled forwards, half climbing, half falling onto the foot of Vox's bed, making direct eye contact as he crawled forwards. "You won't say a word about this to a single soul," he snarled, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. Despite this, his words were tinged with a hint of desperation, a neediness that Vox had never seen before. "But Vox, I need you to fuck me."

Vox nearly bluescreened, his heart skipping a beat at the words that he never thought he would ever hear. It was a dream, it had to be. There was no way this was actually happening.

But no, Alastor kept crawling forwards, real as ever, not stopping or redirecting when he met with Vox's body, moving on top of him, straddling his hips. "I've seen the way you look at me, the things you think, the things you do."

If Vox's mind wasn't somewhere completely different, he would have been embarrassed at the idea of anyone knowing about what he thought or did, let alone the object of his fantasies. No matter how humiliated he would normally be, it was hard to think a single coherent thought when Alastor was sitting right on his dick.