Work Text:
“You’re slapping the contract down on the table?” Vox narrowed his eyes. “What are you, twelve?”
“You’re the one stipulating such a juvenile… thing,” said Alastor.
“It’s called a kink, Al,” said Vox, shaking his head.
“I suppose you always were a twisted one,” rejoined Alastor, a spark of something returning to his eye. “I’ve specified my own terms. I trust you remember how to read old fashioned paper contracts?”
“Not like I haven’t been an overlord for the better part of a decade now,” grumbled Vox, to Alastor’s terse smile. He picked up the sheaf of paper, reading through it. He knew Alastor well enough to pay attention to the fine print. He didn’t expect any cheap shots in the clauses, no I own Vox’s soul forever with no conditions, Al was too classy for that kind of bullshit, but that didn’t stop Vox looking for them, out of force of habit.
The meat of the contract was as Vox had initially proposed; Vox would get to look, touch and manipulate Alastor’s hooves as he saw fit, between the proposed times, a binding nondisclosure clause preventing either of them broadcasting the event during or after the fact, with an exception for recordings for personal use. In return, Vox would owe a favor of Alastor’s choosing; nothing suicidal, nothing that would cost above a certain price, a list of caveats that went on for a page and a half. Vox stopped when he got to the clauses Alastor had added, reading them through a second time. “Nothing above the knee, huh?”
Alastor lowered his eyelashes. “Since you only seemed interested in my… hooves… I thought it was a fair addition.”
Vox grinned to himself, sensing the discomfort that radiated from Alastor as he ran through the wording. “No-one gets to touch you above the knee, your pants stay on throughout the act… you realize that this applies to you, too, right?”
Alastor sniffed. “If you’re implying that your inept pawings might cause me to become so overcome with lust that I divest myself of all dignity and jump into your arms, Vox, then you’re a bigger narcissist than I feared.”
The truth lay low and unpleasant between them, unacknowledged by either party. Alastor needed the other end of the contract, needed the unspecified favor from Vox, or he wouldn't be here.
And much as Vox would have enjoyed Alastor's complete subjugation, he suspected that the man would rather die than endure it. Which led them to this interesting compromise. It was something he had wanted for a long time; even when they had been friends, he had fantasized about that part of Alastor's body. And, as Velvette liked to say, you were only unalived once.
“I'm surprised you didn't put in a clause stopping me inflicting pain,” said Vox.
Alastor shrugged. “I've never seen you torture someone when you didn't have to. You're not much of a sadist, old chum.”
“I could prove you wrong,” said Vox, an eyebrow raised.
“But you won't,” said Alastor, comfortably. “Are you going to sign it?”
Vox produced a pen with a flourish, blue electricity sparking around it. “One more stipulation. You have to be paying attention. The whole time. No tuning out.” He added the line to the bottom of the document.
“As you insist,” said Alastor, his voice level.
Vox grinned and signed his name, sliding the contract and pen across to Alastor, who signed in turn. Their human names. Not in blood. This wasn't a contract for their souls, after all. Just a favor for a favor.
And nothing above the knee.
There was something about kneeling between Alastor's legs that made Vox feel a little light-headed, even if it was simply to remove his shoes. The signal that Alastor gave off at close range was so strong that it was nearly tangible to Vox, his antennae giving a soft quiver as he bowed his head, taking Alastor's right hoof in his hands, the sole of his boot against Vox’s palm.
Alastor didn't seem immune to the tension either, his red eyes lighting with something like interest as he looked down from his seat on the edge of the bed, his ankle flexing to allow Vox to pull off his boot. He wore black cotton socks with nearly no elastic to them, a sight that made Vox start, his gaze running up Alastor's leg to the knee.
Vox ran his hand up Alastor's shin, the bump under the fabric of his trousers confirming his suspicions. “You're wearing fucking sock garters?”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“Oh, you freaky fucker.” Vox swallowed an error message. “You have no idea how fucking hot that is.”
The sock was shaped to accommodate a hoof rather than a human foot, the toe wide for the spread of the standing toes, a woven circle at the back to protect the dewclaws and allow for the ankle.
Vox cuffed the leg of Alastor's trouser, rolling it up to the knee, staring all the while at the gracile limb beneath.
Taupe skin faded into dark fur, the slenderness of it making Vox's breath catch in his throat. He could wrap his fingers around the limb at any point. Cradling Alastor's calf in his palm and along his forearm, he lifted the hoof to his lips and breathed in.
Holy fuck, the smell. Even through the cotton, Vox could smell Alastor's musk, deep and earthy and pungent. Vox pressed in with his screen, until Alastor's hoof pressed squarely between his eyes, a groan escaping his lips as he felt his cock twitch to half mast just from the sensation.
Alastor himself was meticulously clean, Vox knew, but part of the curse of a deer body was the scent glands, constantly excreting musk that would help an earthly deer find its way but held little use for a demonic one. It was why Alastor rarely removed his shoes. It was also why, when Vox opened his eyes to look back at Alastor, he found the smile strained, eyes wide, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. Fuck, that was almost better than the smell.
“I love the smell of you, Al,” Vox purred, reaching for the clasps on Alastor’s sock garter. “You’re fucking musky, ripe, you stink like a damn animal. I am so fucking hard right now.”
“I can see that,” said Alastor, his smile fixed. “I don’t need you to tell me.”
“Oh, but the contract says I can talk as much as I fucking want. So I’m gonna talk.” Slowly, as if unwrapping a gift, Vox pulled the sock from Alastor’s hoof, eyes widening as he took in the sight.
Alastor’s standing nails were perfectly formed, the same crimson as his fingernails and lustrous, a beautiful end to the long, elegant limb.
“Holy shit, you are fucking beautiful,” breathed Vox, running his hands over the hoof, fingers over the smooth keratin, round and into the fleshy pads behind the standing nails. He felt Alastor shiver at the touch, and made a mental note to probe there some more later. “You have no idea how fucking perfect you are.”
He stripped Alastor’s other hoof in a similar manner and pressed his lips to each of them, learning the shape of them with his hands as he praised them.
“Are you quite done?”
“Oh, you’re bored?” asked Vox, taking a slender hoof in his hands and feeling the arch, the space between the crimson dewclaws and the pads beneath the standing toes. “Let’s see if I can fix that for you, Al.” With a grin, he pushed the knuckle of his thumb between the tendons in the arch, pushing hard into the flesh as he stroked up and down.
A strangled hiss from Alastor was his reward, another shiver through the Radio Demon’s body. “What’s that, Al?” Vox teased. “Speechless for once?”
“No, I-” Alastor started, but Vox picked the moment to push his knuckle into the pad of Alastor’s standing toe, and Alastor gave a little gasp instead, a noise that went right to Vox’s already hard cock.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were enjoying this, Al,” said Vox, continuing the massage with a smirk.
“Fuck you,” Alastor snarled, his grin dangerous and sharp.
“Not on the menu tonight,” said Vox, his answering grin triumphant, his fingers kneading the pads of Alastor’s standing toes. “Nothing above the knee, remember? So, instead-” Vox ran fingertips over the red of Alastor’s nails, tracing the gap between the two. “Instead you get this.”
Vox pushed a finger between the two crimson nails, spreading the hoof apart, and grinning as he felt the fur around Alastor’s scent gland, oily and slick with his musk. The noise that Alastor made was everything; as if Alastor had just tuned to the wrong station, his voice thick with distortion. “What are you doing to me?”
Looking up, Vox noticed two things. First, Alastor was angry, antlers branching, eyes black with glowing red dials. Second, Alastor was hard.
“Holy shit. Fuck. Christ.” Vox stared. Al’s cock was pitching an impressive tent in his pants; any larger and he would be threatening to tear the seams. Vox had expected Alastor to endure the attention, maybe enjoy the hoof rub in a sensual sort of way, maybe be embarrassed. Not for it to do something for him. From Alastor’s expression, he hadn’t been expecting this either. Vox realized he was salivating, and swallowed.
Vox pushed his fingertip further into the gap between Alastor’s toes, feeling the weeping slit of his scent gland, the stink from the hoof intensifying as Vox smeared the musk back and forth.
“You frivolous piece of technological frippery- ngh!” Alastor’s grin was unhinged now, gums bared as well as teeth.
“I’m just doing what you agreed I could,” said Vox, drinking in the scene before him, glad he wasn’t the one coming apart at the seams this time. He kept his fingers moving, back and forth, looking at the spread of Alastor’s beautiful toes. “Speaking of which, uh…” Vox trailed off. His cock could fit between them, at a stretch. “You didn’t stipulate that I couldn’t use your hooves to jack off.”
Alastor was silent, but the widening of his eyes told Vox that he hadn’t considered the possibility. His poker face wasn’t that good, smile or no.
“If you object, I won’t,” said Vox, quietly. “I’m an asshole, not a monster.”
Alastor gave an annoyed little huff, staring at the two fingers that Vox had wedged between his toes. “I signed the contract. I don’t need your pity.”
Vox smiled when he heard it. “Atta boy,” he growled, spreading Alastor’s toes further apart as he freed his cock from his pants. His first glimpse of the slit of Al’s scent gland, the whitish discharge beading on it like dew, set an ache to the base of his cock, and he swore under his breath. “Oh, that’s fucking pretty, Al. Jesus, look at you.”
Vox lifted the hoof to his face, fingers still forcing the standing nails apart, and opened his mouth, curling his tongue into the gap. Oh, Alastor tasted fucking filthy, organic and overwhelmingly male. If Vox’s head had been biological, the combination of smell and taste would have made him gag, but as it was, he simply pushed away the mounting pile of error messages, keeping his senses as highly tuned as he could without shutting down entirely, feeling the emotion in his gut flicker from disgust to arousal and back again like a fucking metronome. The stink was soaking into his casing; he was going to smell like hoof for weeks. Tongue laving wet between Alastor’s toes, Vox groaned, teasing the slit of the scent gland as he made the crevice nice and slick for his cock.
From a secondary camera, Vox watched Alastor’s face, the quivering at the corners of his smile, the bobbing of his larynx. The tent in his pants, where an honest-to-god wet spot was forming, dark against the red. Alastor reached for his own crotch, looking to find friction, only to have his wrists snapped back into place by the chains of their contract. Vox groaned into the crevice of Alastor’s hoof as he watched Al snarl at the chains, hand going to his own cock and giving it a slow pump as he drew his head back.
“I’d love to help with that,” leered Vox, Alastor’s ankle still in his hand. “But no-one touches you above the knee, Al, not even you. You put it in the contract yourself.”
Alastor stared down at him, dial-eyed. “Fuck you, you tacky rectangle fuck.”
“Is this your idea of dirty talk?” Vox matched Alastor’s grin as he lowered Alastor’s hoof to his dick, a shock through his system as he made contact, pushing his dribbling glans against the pads on the undersides of Al’s standing toes, rubbing small circles into the yielding flesh there. Alastor made a soft, animal noise in his throat, and Vox guided himself to the gap between the toes, rubbing his glans there. “Haah- I think you need practice.”
“Why?” Alastor’s gaze on him was intense, even as his breath huffed between his teeth. “It seems to be working, after all.”
Vox glitched, freezing for a second before shaking it off. How the fuck did Alastor always seem to know just how to get under his skin? Vox watched Alastor’s face as he smeared his glans between Alastor’s spread toes, the pearly white of Alastor’s musk mixing with the neon blue of his precum, back and forth until the space was slick with it and Vox could push the shaft of his cock between Alastor’s toes without much friction. The contract compelled Alastor to watch, so he did, his hips rolling futile as he sought friction the air above him could not give him.
“You’re looking pretty out of it there, Al,” teased Vox. “Sure you don’t want any help?”
“What-” said Alastor, chest heaving, monocle askew. “-can you do to help, Vox?”
“Roll over,” said Vox, sitting back a little. “You can hump the mattress.”
Alastor gave a radio hiss. “Fuck you.”
“Would love to, believe me,” Vox shot back.
“The contract says I have to watch you.”
“Is that all?” Vox snapped his fingers, feeding his visual inputs through to the screen on the wall on the other side of the bed, his view of Alastor’s hoof, the lustrous crimson of his standing nails spread apart with Vox’s shaft between them, Vox’s electric blue claws wrapped around Alastor’s slender arch. “There- that should count.”
Alastor glanced at the screen, then back at Vox. “Are you going soft?” Alastor hissed. “Why give mercy? You want to humiliate me.”
“Says who? Says you?” Vox pulled a face, stroking his hand up the delicate bones of Alastor’s ankle. “I’m not here to play carnival freak show dominant, Al- god knows I get enough of that at home. I just wanna worship your hooves.”
“And stick your garish dick between my toes.”
“Yeah. And stick my garish dick between your toes, so sue me.” Vox shrugged. Just hearing Alastor say dick was a pleasant little throb. “I think you’re enjoying this, Al. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Another heave of Alastor’s chest. “You’re wrong, Vox. You’re wrong and you’re tacky.”
“Then why are you still hard, Al?” Vox raised an eyebrow. Alastor didn’t have an answer for him, so he continued, pushing the head of his cock back between Alastor’s standing toes and into Alastor’s intercapital notch, as far as it would go, wedging the two halves of the hoof apart. Vox slid himself back and forth, and Alastor shivered, blood running from his lip where he had bitten it, his grin fixed as he refused to make a noise, refused to groan, or whimper or gasp.
“You wanna know what I think?”
Alastor stared at him. “No.”
“I think,” Vox continued, unperturbed. “That you’re just too fucking proud to admit you like this. You like me, on the floor in front of you, you like my touch, and you like me fucking your hoof like the sloppy little pussy that it is.” With each like, Vox gave a thrust of his hips, Alastor’s hoof slick and tight around him, his thumb curling round the standing toes to the flesh underneath, pressing through the fascia and against the cruciate ligament. Alastor cried out; ears back, eyes wide, still deliciously hard in his pants, as Vox continued. “I think you’re too fucking proud to take me up on my offer and roll over and hump the mattress like the rabid animal that you are. Because you’re afraid that you’ll like it when you cum from me fucking your hooves.”
Alastor snarled at him, arms lashing out and catching on the chains of the deal. “You’re pap,” he growled. “Slop. Mass-marketed, overhyped, underproduced, noisy garbage. Your viewers are idiots and so are you.”
Usually this would get right under Vox’s skin, but usually he wasn’t using Alastor’s hoof to jerk off, so the insults lacked their usual barb. It was easy to see who was in charge, which one of them was an animal snapping at the bars of their cage. Vox grinned, radiating smugness. “Are you gonna roll over and hump the mattress for me or not, Al?”
“Go fuck yourself,” growled Alastor, which meant yes. Vox pulled himself out of Alastor’s hoof, and got to his feet as he watched the Radio Demon roll over for him.
With Alastor face down, Vox ran his fingers over each of Alastor’s hooves in turn; one slick and covered in the blue smears of his precum, the other untouched, the scent gland still beading white with musk. Alastor’s narrow ass, fully clothed, flexed back and forth as Alastor found friction in the bedding below him, grinding himself into the bedding with a strangled groan that seemed to thrum through Vox’s loins.
Vox felt an irrational surge of jealousy for the mattress, and dismissed it.
“It’s a shame an old fucker like you gets pretty hooves like this,” said Vox, running a talon over the edge of one crimson nail, dipping his fingers between the toes of the unfucked hoof and smearing the musk over it, watching Alastor watch him do it on the big screen in front of them. “Anyone else, and they would be out on display, for the world to see, all shiny and crimson and shit.”
“Really? I thought you’d appreciate exclusivity.” Alastor’s tone was sarcastic, but his words made Vox’s cock ache. The thought that he was deflowering Alastor’s hooves. Despoiling them. A part of Al that pretty much no-one else would even see.
“Oh, I do, Al.” Vox’s voice was a groan as he stacked Alastor’s hooves one atop the other, lined up so that he could slide himself between both sets of toes, and pushed himself in.
“Fuck,” hissed Alastor, his voice lower in his register now, his eyes losing focus. Vox wondered what his O-face looked like, wondered if he stopped smiling when he came. Al’s hips were still twitching, still grinding himself sordidly into the bedding, and Vox matched his jackrabbit place, grinning as the motion brought a whine to Alastor’s throat.
“Look at you, Al, you wanton little minx,” purred Vox, listening to the obscene squelch his cock now made sliding in and out. “You’re gonna cum with my cock in your hooves, arentcha?”
“N-no-” Alastor groaned, gritting his teeth, a quiver through his body as he willed himself to stop humping the mattress. A good attempt, but futile.
Alastor’s assessment when writing the contract hadn’t been wrong, per se; Vox didn’t much enjoy torture. But, long experience as an overlord had shown him a thing or two, and his powers. Well, his powers were quite useful for this sort of thing.
The electricity that ran through power sockets and the electricity that ran through nerve endings were pretty similar, after all, and Vox could feel all of Alastor’s nerve endings, firing through the strands that wrapped the bones of each hoof, up into the braid of nerves that ruled his body. What sensation went where wasn’t an exact science, but Vox was practiced. A zap to the prostate was always surefire, but hooves had a lot of nerve endings too, enough to get someone off.
Carefully, Vox brought electricity to the surface of his cock as he pushed it once more between the pads of the prone Alastor’s feet, enough to tickle the nerve endings. The reaction was instant; not an orgasm, but a quiver through Alastor’s body, a strangled capacitive whine in his throat. Alastor’s fingers clenched, rending the bedsheets with his claws.
“Good?” asked Vox, gentle because gentle pissed Alastor off more than rough did. “We can stop anytime, y’know. Nullify the contract. Just say the word.”
“Cheap tricks-” gasped Alastor, trying to turn in on himself and finding he could not, too stubborn to do anything save submit as the electricity from Vox’s cock made him quiver again, whine again. His breathing was shallow, his eyes wide as Vox fucked his hooves, squeezing his delicate ankles as the sound of electricity arcing through air and into skin sounded at the apex of each squelching thrust. “-fuck.”
“Good boy,” Vox ground out, his voice breathy as he applied a little more voltage. “Give in. Lemme make you cum.”
“Damnable -ngh- picturebox,” whimpered Alastor, a sweet sound on his lips as he came, quivering, into the bedsheets.
“A picturebox who makes you cum,” growled Vox, wishing to hell that he could touch more of Al than just his calves and shins as he fucked the still-slick still-sensitive space between Al’s standing toes. “How does it feel, Al? Getting fucked senseless by a clout-chasing, mediocre video podcast? Fucked by mass-marketed, overhyped- ngh- noisy garbage?” Vox could feel himself getting close, his audio lagging and glitching, the movement of his hips becoming irregular, a pressure in his shaft, his balls hitting the underside of Alastor’s neatly manicured crimson nails at each stroke.
Alastor gave a noise that wasn’t even a word, half animal, half distorted signal, and Vox came, hard, one arc hitting the side of the bed, the second hitting the backs of Alastor’s legs as he pulled out, vivid blue stripes over dark flesh and fur. A third and fourth spurt drizzled over his own hand and Alastor’s sublingual pads. Vox stood there for a moment, cock in hand, staring at his handiwork as he blinked away the error messages displayed on his screen. The great Radio Demon, covered in his cum. His cock, smeared with Alastor’s musk. Fuck.
Alastor sighed into the bedsheets, a slightly sulky edge to his tone. “You’ll clean that up, I hope.”
Vox felt a swell of something other than triumph in his chest; something warm. “Yeah, I’ll wipe you down, Al.”
There was something nice about both being in a post orgasmic haze, Vox thought, as he knelt again at Alastor’s feet, a warm cloth and basin in hand. Alastor, now back in the position he had started in, had little inclination to do anything other than regard Vox with languid red eyes as he wiped the evidence of their encounter from Alastor’s ruby red hooves, the bones delicate in his hands.
Vox planted a soft kiss on the front of Alastor’s hoof, below the dewclaws. “We should do this again sometime.”
Alastor lifted his leg from Vox’s hands, and in a fluid, measured movement, pressed his hoof to Vox’s forehead, grinding it back and forth with a twist from his hip, leaving a damp, scent-laden mark on Vox’s screen. “Absolutely not.”
“Say next week? I have the quarterly review Tuesday, so I’ve gotta keep the board happy, but Wednesday I don’t have anything I couldn’t blow off.”
Alastor gave Vox a level smile, pushing his face with his hoof. “If there is one quality of yours I have never had reason to doubt, Vox, it is your capacity for blowing things.”
Vox grinned. “That sounds like Wednesday night to me.”