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Partnering with Valentino continued to be the best damn investment Vox had ever made. It wasn’t just the added revenue that Val's films and clubs raked in every year, though that didn’t hurt. It was everything else too.
Valentino was sharp, dangerous, and powerful, one of two people in all of hell that Vox deemed fit to stand beside him as an equal—the only person, period, who got to have Vox on his back in the bedroom, who got to piss him the fuck off and wind him up to watch him go without getting a thousand volts to the gut in retaliation. Valentino was infuriating, vain, and fickle as anything, always up for a quickie but needing to be bullied into doing any paperwork, and sometimes he drove Vox so goddamn crazy—but who else would put up with Vox’s obsessive tendencies, his controlling nature and his incessant need to own everyone in his life? His stalkerish tendencies and his condescending bullshit? Velvette certainly wouldn’t. Alastor hadn’t. Valentino always did.
They went hand in hand: Vox was immune to Val’s venom, Val was immune to Vox’s hypnosis. It was a real thrill to find that kind of impunity in hell, and always smart to capitalize on it—which Vox did, frequently.
And not to mention that spicing up their business partnership with sex was Vox’s favorite interpersonal development to date. Val knew what the fuck he was doing with sex and it showed. He was all sensuality and violence, gently kissing Vox with the same mouth he used to bite until skin gave under his fangs, weeping blood, all of it visceral and raw and real.
He was perfect.
Which was why, on occasion, Vox could be compelled to make his appreciation known.
They weren’t a couple, per se, because Valentino was pathologically noncommittal and Vox simply knew better. You don’t try to date your business partner slash casual fuckbuddy, not when said partner was the pinnacle of depraved promiscuity and especially not when you knew yourself too well to not realize how badly it would go. Vox tried the whole romance thing with a certain radio demon a few decades back, and he’d learned his damn lesson.
Hell just wasn’t the place for that sort of cutesy, feels-y bullshit. Also, he was pretty sure that Val was straight up incapable of love, which was both par for the course for Vox’s friendships and amazingly convenient—things couldn’t get complicated if there was nothing to complicate in the first place.
So they were ‘on and off’ in the sense that they were sometimes on, off, backwards and even one time upside-down; meaning that sometimes they were actively fucking, sometimes they weren’t, occasionally fucking while fighting and once managed to start fighting in the middle of fucking, because they were demons of many talents. But those talents were purely about sex, nothing more. They couldn’t afford for it to be anything more.
Still, Vox was no longer in the habit of taking the good things in his afterlife for granted. When something good, genuinely good happened to you, you had better seize it with both hands and never let go, because this existence would do its level best to take it away from you.
He knew that quite well.
He enjoyed the status quo with the Vees, wouldn’t have it any other way, and he understood the importance of relationship maintenance, even if said relationship was just a ‘messy FWB situationship’ or whatever Velvette was calling it these days. That was why he’d set tonight aside for just him and Val.
Calling it a date night ran the risk of coloring it in rosy tones it didn’t warrant, so Vox refused to cave to the urge. They didn’t do this sort of thing very often, only when one of them was trying to grovel after a breakup or there was some special occasion to celebrate—but usually Velvette was there too—so it didn’t strike Vox as particularly odd, in the moment, that it had been a considerable amount of time since Val had approached him with a bid for attention. Normally he couldn’t go a day without Val blowing up his phone, or feeling him up during a board meeting, or any number of insane come-ons Vox had been subjected to throughout their partnership.
But a few weeks had passed since the last real time Val had approached him first, after a truly magnificent round of makeup sex. They’d fallen asleep together afterward, something they didn’t usually do because of their conflicting schedules, and Vox had slept more soundly than he had in years wrapped up in the silky fluff of Val’s wings, listening to the soft, inordinately adorable insectile chitter that whistled through Val’s throat when he slept. Oh yeah, that was a good night.
And then… well, not much of anything. They’d both gone to work in the morning pleased with themselves, Vox assumed, and since then every time he’d seen Valentino had been either with Velvette there or a meeting that Vox had to initiate. Vox hated being put in that position; it rarely came up because Val was so forward, but it always made him feel wretched and pathetic, the way he used to feel back in the fifties and sixties every time he begged Alastor to have drinks with him, to give him the time of day, to see him to see him to just fucking see him—
But that was a long time ago.
What they needed, in Vox’s humble opinion, was a hard reset (in more ways than one). He didn’t often advocate for ‘going back to the basics’ or whatever nostalgic drivel some people liked to tout these days about the horrors of modernity, but in this case, Vox felt like there was nothing wrong with sticking to the status quo. They had a nice arrangement going and it was working out just fine. No need to switch anything up or try anything new. He’d show Val a fantastic time, destress, and remind them both that the person who kept the lights on around here shouldn’t be the one scrambling after the other’s attention like a neglected puppy.
Valentino was probably just occupied at the studio. Voxtek Enterprises was wildly successful these days and all three of the Vees were working themselves to the bone to meet consumer demand—it wasn’t just Vox getting called a workaholic anymore. Everyone was busy, Val included.
All the more reason to do this tonight! It’d be nice to see Val again without the company demanding anything of them. Vox was ready to lose himself in Val’s debaucherous imagination until he forgot his own name.
He’d had an extraordinarily pleasant day by hell’s standards, and by the time he sauntered into the elevators that would take him up to Val's suite, he was humming and self-satisfied with a bouquet of saccharine hell roses tucked into one arm and a bag full of… various toys and accoutrements that Val would definitely get a kick out of slung onto the other. Hopefully enough of a kick to ravish Vox thoroughly after dinner, which he’d planned for as well; room service brought right up to the penthouse, a few strategic threats of disembowelment to upper management if anyone interrupted them, and Vox had even silenced his ever-pressing notifications, restricting his awareness to only the most urgent ones that could overrule his Do Not Disturb restrictions. Val should be licking his goddamn boots for all the effort Vox was going to for his ungrateful ass.
Or, well. Licking some other things. Vox didn’t plan on being particular about the finer details tonight, mostly because Val had a way of throwing all of his careful plans out the window.
It was a quality in his business partner he found equal parts infuriating and charming—conveniently, two emotions that both made him horny.
A text message chimed from Velvette in the back of his head.
Velvette: im going out tonight if u guys r gonna be gross. ETA for when i can come back without my eyes burning out of my skull?
Vox: 6am. No sooner.
Velvette: ugh
Vox: You really don’t have to go out. You have your own separate section of the tower.
Velvette: yea but itll be defiled knowing what ur up to next door. yuck ugh etc etc
Velvette: wait i just remembered i have a shoot tomorrow i want him to model in
Velvette: plow him into the mattress so he’ll be too fucked out to say no to me. it’s ur civic duty vox you have to fuck him good with your stupid plug n play cock fr. pull out the one with tentacles or smthn
Vox: Predictable. Also, understood.
Velvette: xoxo awesome ilysm v
She followed this up with a slew of hearts and eggplant emojis, which made Vox grin to himself as he closed out his messages and put everything on silent mode. Ah, Velvette. He did love that girl.
Velvette had also helped him pick out an outfit for tonight when he pleaded—ahem, politely asked, because apparently he was a fashion wreck to her, even though he maintained that the blue and red suit-sweater-vest-bowtie combo was perfectly respectable.
“Don’t you wanna look like hot shit for your boy toy?” Velvette had demanded, her measuring tape coiling around Vox’s throat threateningly with a gleam of pink magic. “Then shut the fuck up and let me work.”
Now, eyeing himself in the silvery sheen of the elevator interior, Vox could admit he looked, as planned, like hot shit. Burgundy flared velvet pants accentuated his nonexistent curves, giving him an illusion of shapeliness that did him a lot of favors, plus a tight black button-up shirt tucked into his waistband, uncomplicated. The top two buttons were temptingly undone, of course. The shirt was long-sleeved, gold cufflinks and all, but he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows to expose his forearms—Val always ate that shit up—and donned a few of Velvette’s plain golden bracelets, which jangled every time he moved in a spectacularly annoying fashion, but she’d insisted that Valentino would think they were attractive.
Whatever. Val would be stripping all of it off of him soon enough.
The elevators dinged gently, sliding open to admit him to Val's penthouse. He could have just zapped his way up here through the electricity, but he’d wanted to take his time, to savor the wait. Val was always lecturing him about being ‘unromantic’ in bed because he was too eager, didn’t understand the art of anticipation, came too fast, whatever. Well, no longer—Vox was learning some patience tonight and Val had better fucking enjoy it.
Val’s two moth girl attendants bowed and opened the doors for him.
“Go ahead and take off early,” he said, dismissing them. “We’ll be occupied all night.”
They both dipped their heads and allowed the doors to swing shut behind him, heavy, inlaid metal whispering on the perfectly oiled hinges. Vox swept his gaze along the wide crimson bay windows to the left, the familiar terraces and gaudy couches and hellish plants scattered throughout the space, and felt himself relaxing steadily; it was Valentino through and through, even though all the Vees tended to use his floor as a common area, and something inside him was always inexplicably soothed by being here. This was where he went to unwind and his body knew it.
This late in the evening, the Pride Ring glowed a gentle, dusky purple through the tinted windows. The crystal chandeliers overhead shone with a radiating periwinkle, casting the room in cool, muted tones, and the pools of shadows fuzzing the edges of everything were why Vox didn’t see Val right away.
He was facing away from Vox, curled up on the couch and smoking languidly in the gloom. Not the furious chainsmoking indicative of a real Val-patented tantrum, but a slow, casual stream of pink smoke, dancing and twisting in alluring patterns through the air. Vox smirked, shifting to tuck the bouquet behind his back.
Showtime.
“Surprise,” he sang, announcing his presence with a little ostentatious click of his heels against the tiled floor. “Aw, were you waiting for me?”
Valentino tossed an over-the-shoulder glance at him, then paused, eyes widening as he took in Vox’s appearance. Vox let his smirk split into a full-blown grin. He bent at the waist, sketching a modest little bow, and when he straightened, he smugly brandished the flowers with a flick of the wrist, every movement coordinated for maximum impact. Everyone loved the courteous gentleman schtick.
And Val…
Didn’t react.
Except for a brief quiver of his antennae, Val’s eyes just roamed up and down Vox’s body, lingering on the bouquet in a way that made his blank expression even more unreadable—which was not the intended response, fuck, how was this already going wrong? Vox had anticipated an instant, delighted smile, or some kind of condescending but deeply suggestive purr, like ooh, Vox, you know me too well, he was supposed to say, or, amorcito, you shouldn’t have. Did you get all dolled up for daddy? How cute.
Not—
Whatever this was.
Val kept on not saying anything, gaze flat and opaque behind his glasses. After several seconds of uncertain silence where Vox steadily wilted, smile growing strained, he gathered himself and tried a different angle.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting, I had to pick up some things for tonight,” Vox said, straightening and avoiding eye contact as he circled around the couch, setting the bouquet on the coffee table as he went.
The food he’d ordered littered the table in steaming boxes, unopened. Okay, so Val wasn’t into the flowers today, that was fine. Vox came prepared. He stopped in front of Val and held up his bag of toys with a little enticing shake, wiggling his eyebrows.
“You would not believe the night I have planned for us, baby. Certainly nothing you haven’t seen before, but we here at Voxtek are at the forefront of innovation! I’m sure we can find some creative uses for the various props I have here for us.”
He set a hand on his hip, intending to draw attention to the attractive curve of his hips in these pants, and for a relieving moment, Val watched the motion with unmistakable hunger—but then something in his face shuttered as he turned his head to the side, exhaling a plume of smoke.
A frisson of anxiety crawled up Vox’s spine. Maybe Val wanted a demonstration? A little show and tell? Sure, yeah, but—why the fuck wasn’t he saying anything?
“Here, I’ll just shut the fuck up and show you,” Vox said hastily, starting to dig around in the bag, but Val’s heavy sigh made him freeze.
“Vox, put the bag down,” Val said. He peered at Vox in his periphery, haughty, but then seemed to deflate, losing whatever strange edge had been in his tone when Vox walked in. All four of his arms were folded over his chest, long legs crossed. He snapped his cigarette back into its case. “Come here, cariño.” He patted the couch beside him.
Oh. Oh! Getting right to the main event, then. Impatient, maybe putting on a bored persona for the mood? Vox could work with that.
Catching on, he set his bag down next to the bouquet—they’d find a use for it later, most likely—and then acquiesced, sitting down next to Val. He let his smile take on a lascivious quality as he shifted sideways, sliding a hand onto Val’s knee and squeezing lightly. “Eager, huh? And you’re always saying I’m the unromantic one. Well, got any ideas for how we can—”
“Enough, Vox, fuck,” Val snapped, making Vox blink, startled. “Just—stop. I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”
What?
“I… I’m afraid I don’t—”
“I thought I could do this,” Val muttered to himself, shoulders hunched with rigid tension. “Stupid. And then you walk in here with your fucking flowers and tacky bell bottoms like a husband on anniversary night—Jesus, Vox, you just had to go and make this difficult.”
“Val, what is this about?”
Val abruptly shoved himself to his feet, pacing away from Vox and ditching him on the couch. Vox stared after him, bewildered. “God dammit. I can’t play this game anymore, Vox. I’m done.”
Terror spiked in Vox’s chest. And suddenly, without warning, Alastor’s voice was ringing in the back of his mind, decades prior: I won’t play this game anymore, Vox. I’m done.
No, no, no—
Before he even registered what he was doing, he was surging to his feet and grabbing Val by the arm, spinning him around. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, digging his claws in to keep Val in place; Val just grimaced, bent at the waist to accommodate their height difference, and didn’t try to get away. There was something wrong with Vox’s audio sensors, tinnitus worming into his bones. “What do you mean, ‘you’re done’? You can’t—you can’t mean the Vees, you’re not allowed to just—”
Val shook his head vigorously. “I’m not done with the Vees. I wouldn’t—” He gave a strange, morose laugh even as he smiled, broad and teasing. “I couldn’t abandon our favorite babydoll, now could I? She’d be heartbroken without me. And the cell reception here is too good.”
“Then—what are you talking about?”
Val's lower pair of hands came up to curl around Vox’s wrist, tugging. After a second, Vox let go, allowing Val to step back, placing some distance between them. Val looked askance, scowling, and Vox felt his initial, indignant anxiety souring into something quailing and frightened. His fans kicked on with a humming whirr that broke up the tense silence between them.
Just before Vox lost his cool, Val turned to look at him with an expression Vox had seen on him before, but never like this.
It was an expression he saw in the early mornings, when they were cuddling in bed together and Valentino was tracing deceptively delicate fingers up and down the casing of his screen, stroking his face and waiting for him to wake up. It was an expression he saw sometimes when he was wrapping up a brutal interview after eviscerating some poor sucker and happened to catch Val’s eye amidst the crowd of techies, flashing him a proud smile across a sea of nobodies. It was an expression he saw when Valentino was kissing and petting his way down Vox’s body in the dark, touching every soft and hidden part of him he never let anyone else see.
It was an expression that left Vox breathless and frozen as Val reached down to carefully cradle Vox’s hands in his own, lowering himself as he did so that they were on even footing. The smile he gave Vox was fraught with an emotion Vox could not name.
“Vox,” Val said, rubbing his thumb over Vox’s knuckles, “baby, I fucked up. I broke the golden rule of my work, what I always tell all my sluts downstairs.” His antennae folded back, drooping sadly. “Never fall in love.”
Vox stared at Val. His hands were slack in Val’s grip.
“But you’re not some high rolling client,” Val continued, gaze riveted on Vox’s face with an intensity that made Vox’s systems warm, threatening to overheat. He had no idea what his display was doing anymore and couldn’t be bothered to check. “And I’m not some back alley whore. Not anymore. We’re Overlords, and if that means anything, it’s that we can do whatever the fuck we want forever, no? The future of hell belongs to us, and I want—” He hesitated, then clenched his jaw, shoulders tightening. “I want to take over hell with you. Let’s take over this whole flaming trash heap together, and I want you next to me, when we do it—and I don’t just want to be your business partner that you’re having a dirty little affair with off the record. I don’t want to just be your sidepiece, your slutty Overlord arm candy that you can forget about once you come.”
Val squeezed Vox’s hands. “I love you. Whatever the fuck that means in my cruel, damned heart. I love you.”
A beat. Two.
For a humiliatingly long moment, Vox could not understand what the everloving fuck was happening.
Then it clicked, and as soon as the bright, embarrassingly fierce spark of longing ignited in his chest, it went out again like a snuffed candle, and he understood.
He chuckled, shaking his head and ignoring the cold, yawning cavern of disappointment that was opening up inside him. “Hah! Shit, Val, you really got me. It’s been a while since you’ve blindsided me with a roleplay, good job—here, I’ll get into it.”
Vox pulled his hands out of Val's to try and mitigate the crushing slew of feelings with some distance, turning on his heel and walking a few steps away to give himself room—and in doing so, didn’t catch the way Val's expression briefly shattered into something hollow and crushed, hands hanging limply in the air as they reached after Vox’s retreating back.
This was fine. Vox was a performer for a reason, he could fake this, whatever sexy vanilla fantasy Val wanted to play out of the Overlord power couple, even when forcing a soft, affectionate smile made Vox feel like he was going to throw up—because Val always pulled shit like this, always pinned down what would get to Vox the most and sprung it on him without any warning, oblivious to the way a pathetic little voice that he’d been trying to kill since his friendship with Alastor would start to whine and gibber in the back of his head, this isn’t fair, why are you taunting me with this why do you have to dangle it in front of me why do I always get fucking strung along—
Because Vox wasn’t in love with Val, he couldn’t afford to be, but it was cruel, wasn’t it, to throw it in Vox’s face how miserable the topic made him—like romance was just a joke or some goddamn sexual fantasy for Val and not the ill-fitting thing that kept ruining every relationship Vox actually valued.
You and me, together? We can take hell by storm, Vox had said, all those years ago. Hands outstretched, hopeful. Not just as business partners, but so much more.
And Alastor had said, I love you. His smile little more than a jagged slash of sharp teeth, voice fragmented with mocking static. Is that what you wanted to hear, you sad, overwrought excuse for an Overlord?
Did you want me to pretend?
He could pretend for one night.
“Oh, Val,” Vox swooned, turning and clasping his hands together like the lovesick heroine of a trashy telenovela. He smiled, warm and cloying; Val wanted sappy and cliché, he could be that. He could be anything Val wanted. “Of course, baby—we’re the biggest, baddest fish in the pond, nothing and no one can stand in our way. It’s you and me. I love you.”
Leaning up on his toes, Vox spread his arms invitingly and shut his eyes, ready for Val to grab him and haul him in for the passionate kiss he was clearly angling for—
But then hands were grabbing him by the frame of his screen, jolting him to a halt. His eyes flickered back open, confused, as Val firmly pushed him back down onto his heels, keeping him at arm’s length.
“Stop,” Val muttered, mouth twisted. “Stop, Vox, dammit. I can’t believe I actually thought—” He laughed humorlessly, releasing Vox and rubbing a hand down his face tiredly, wringing his lower pair in a foreign echo of nerves Vox had never seen on him before. “Guess that’s what I get, huh? Once a whore, always a whore.”
“Wait, Val, hold on—”
Vox tried to grab Val’s wrist, but Val yanked himself out of Vox’s grip, snarling.
“Go hire one of my girls if you want a shitty lay,” he snapped, starting to stalk away. The nauseating memory of Alastor walking away from him nearly made Vox’s vision glitch out, déjà vu swallowing him whole, but he barely managed to keep a handle on himself even as hurt fury roiled in his gut. “And take your cheap flowers with you, maybe you can trick some other stupid cabrón into giving you everything.”
Vox balled his hands into fists. A warning crackle of static hummed through the air, making Val briefly shudder as his fur shivered from the ambient current. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”
Alastor leaving him behind. Valentino walking away. Past and present blurred together and all Vox felt was panic, a clawing desperation to not let this happen to him again. He couldn’t go through this again, not with Val.
Look at me, look at me, look at me why won’t you look at me LOOK AT ME—
Vox dissolved into electricity and reappeared in front of Valentino with a harsh crackle of heat lightning, grabbing him by the ruff of his wings and swinging him around to slam him against the huge windows that overlooked the city. His hypnotic eye swirled, reacting to his temper, useless. Val stared down at him, face scrunched and unhappy.
“You do not get to turn your back on me,” Vox warned, low and dangerous. “You forget who the hell you’re dealing with, Val.”
“Just let it go, Vox. Forget I said anything.”
“No, because what the fuck is wrong with you? Love? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Val was silent. Then his expression shifted minutely, loosening, as he dipped his head toward Vox, smile stretching into a miserable rictus of lust. Playacting. His top pair of arms came up to where Vox was still holding him against the window, fingertips petting over the backs of his hands, toying with the golden bracelets. “Of course not. I was just playing, amor, no need to get all worked up. I’m sorry for being so difficult, work has just been so stressful lately… let me make it up to you?”
Vox couldn’t believe this. “No. Are you really going to act like you didn’t just say you loved me? You can’t screw around like that and not expect me to—”
“Oh, fuck you,” Val hissed, abruptly shoving Vox away and making him stumble back. “I’m the one screwing around? What was all that bullshit with the flowers and the food and your fancy ass outfit, and then you have the nerve to act like I’m out of line for fucking saying the quiet part out loud? And the fact that apparently it’s all such a big joke to you, because your head is so far up your own ass you can’t even believe I might be more than just a dumb little fucktoy who makes you money—” He laughed, a bitter sound that made Vox wince. “Ah, well. I guess I’ve always known what I am to you. Just let me suck you off or something so we can move on.”
“Hold on a minute, Val.” Vox lunged to block Val from leaving, arms splayed. “Everything is a sex thing with you! How am I meant to tell the difference when the only time you say anything like that is when we’re having sex? And—speaking of, why the hell would you say something now, when you know how this kind of thing can get complicated between people like us?”
He was rambling now, gesturing violently between them, so angry he was almost spitting sparks as Val just kept on looking bored with it all, just like—
“What we have is good,” Vox insisted desperately. “Isn’t it? Why does it need to be anything more?”
Why does this need to be anything more? Alastor had asked, ears flat against his head. Why is nothing ever enough for you?
“It doesn’t,” Val sighed. He slipped his cigarette out of its case along with a pink lighter, and a pang of hurt deep inside him made Vox’s breath hitch as Val lit his own cigarette without even asking. “Just thought I’d let you know, eh? So you could have all the facts. Well, now you do.”
I really don’t think I do, Vox thought, half-hysterical.
Taking a drag, Val blew out a thick, sweet whorl of smoke to the side. His voice was quiet and resigned, accent sinking into a lukewarm shell of its normal seductive tenor. “If you still don’t understand what I’m talking about, then…” He shrugged. “There’s nothing else to say. I’ve said my piece. It’s alright, baby.” He took a few steps forward to cup the corner of Vox’s screen, as if to cradle a face he no longer had, and smiled dimly. “You don’t need to pretend; I like you best when you’re honest, even when you’re mean. My favorite little selfish bastard.”
“Val,” Vox croaked, stricken, but Val was already drawing away, turning his back on him.
“Goodnight, Vox.”
And then he was walking away, retreating into the penthouse with the slow clicking of heels on polished tile. Practiced calm, shutting down, a skill he’d cultivated to perfection over the years but never one he’d felt a need to use around Vox before. A trail of smoke followed him out, showing Vox exactly where he was going.
But Vox didn’t chase after him.
Something tightened in his chest—and then kept tightening, a band of angelic steel cinching around his mechanical ribs until he was gasping, reaching up to rake at the buttons around his collar and free up his fans to suck in greedy gusts of air, choking on a breathless noise of misery that clogged in his throat and strangled him into silence. Shit. Shit.
The lights flickered overhead, and he felt the building’s frothing mass of electricity shudder. Swallowing hard, Vox grit his teeth and tried to wrestle himself under control. This was embarrassing, he needed to pull himself together before he plunged the whole street into a blackout, but—
The bouquet of flowers was still sitting on the table.
Without thinking about it, Vox crossed the distance in three short strides and grabbed the bouquet, scattering petals everywhere with his vehemence. Lightning seared through his hands, overkill, thousands upon thousands of shrieking volts, and instantly flash-fried them into ash. He stared down at his soot-stained hands, shoulders heaving. Regret immediately threatened to eat him alive.
I’m sorry, he thought wildly. The unspoken words burned, acrid and visceral, under his tongue. Petals littered the ground at his feet. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m s—
He curled his traitorous hands into fists to stop them from trembling.
Then he vanished into the wiring and fled the penthouse.