Masochism Tango | Alastor & Lucifer & Vox

chapter 18

"And don't worry — next month will be a lot worse."

Your words echoed in Vox's mind — next month? Oh, there was most definitely some sort of agreement taking place here. A deal had been stricken, and when, Vox had no idea. Although Vox had a short fuse, it didn't make him stupid, and he could infer what was going on here.

You had given Alastor something in exchange for you to study him through torture, and maybe even at the price of his soul.

What really sickened Vox, however, is the way Alastor seemed to enjoy it.

He held the sides of his screen, overwhelmed — what was he to make of the situation? He had one goal in mind — to destroy you. And better yet, to destroy Alastor as well in one fell swoop. But how could he do that when his emotions got on the way?

He was angry, and strangely so, aroused.

He found himself attracted to the situation he had witnessed, enamored by the concept of Alastor at your mercy, because, well, frankly, all those years ago, he had sort of a one-sided crush on the Radio Demon. And now all he wanted was for him to be caused pain. And Vox had already taken a liking to you, so what better for his perfect ideal scenario to unfold before his very eyes? It made him hard, and also very humiliated.

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You were bored.

You blew out a stream of cool air as you held your face in your hands, smushing your cheeks and your eye makeup smudging as your eyes watered from the eyestrain of staring at your notepad for hours on end. You were sitting criss-crossed on your bed, lounging casually and studying your notes on Alastor, though there was no point. There were no conclusions to be made. He hardly reacted to the most basic forms of torture, which you somewhat expected, so you had to kick it up a notch his next visit.

It was so very interesting to be working witrh a masochist such as himself, so much so that as you ogled your notepad, flashbacks of the evening with the Radio Demon appeared in your mind, making your face flush and your body squirm. He was attarctive, sitting in that chair all vulnerbale and helpless like that, his eyes growing sultry and full of delight as you inflicted pain on his weak body. You chewed on your thumbnail, clenching your thighs together and bringing your knees to your chest, eyes travelling down the lines of the paper. Cutting: No visible reaction. Burning: No visible reaction. Manhandling: No visible reaction.

He was so calm, so serene with the manner in which you touched him, as if your precense had no affect on his demeanor whatsoever. Most men and women were weak-minded around you, stuttering and blubbering messes, either because of your intimidation factor or because of your attractiveness, but Alastor? Alastor seemed to hardly find you attarctive or intimidating whatsoever, and if he did, he hid it very well.

You liked it. He was different. So different.

That thought prompted another thought about Lucifer. You used to think the same about him, about him being so different when you were with him in Heaven. His ideologies, his dreams... He was so different from all of the other angels that it eventually led to his demise.

You decided to go visit him for a bit, casting your silk sheets aside and grabbing your notepad and placing it on your nighstand drawer. You were in your pajamas, and as you left the room, you grabbed your satin baby pink robe from a coat hanger beside your door and threw it over your shoulders. Goosebumps ran up your arms and legs as your bare feet hit the cold marble floors, pattering softly through the hallways as you made your way to Lucifer's room.

You rapped on the door softly with the backs of your knuckles: "Luci?"

"Coming," Lucifer rasped on the other end, and you could hear his chair screech as he stood from inside, and his footsteps thumping agaisnt the floor as he sauntered to the door. He opened it with a short swing, and was revealed on the other side with messy hair and tired eyes, dressed casually in a graphic tee and sweatpants. He had socks on as well.