Work Text:
Vox and Velvette take their leave, as Charlie clutches her head, throbbing with pain. How dare he treat Angel that way? How dare he speak about one of her friends like that, and air out his past like it was nothing? Anger grips the inside of her head like a vice as she lets out low groans, feeling like her brain is both squeezing and pulling apart at the seams simultaneously. She then drops to her knees, fingers digging into her knees. Her groans slowly fades into nothing, head drooping down casting a shadow over her face, small pants escaping her lips. Vaggi's beside her tightly gripping her shoulders, frantically asking "Charlie!! What's wrong? Are you okay?!"
Silence, and then: a sinister, quiet chuckle. It flows out, wraps everyone in it, growing in volume, ominous and shiver-inducing as eyes widen in fear and confusion. Vaggi lets go and steps back, as does everyone else. Before they can say anything, it stops.
Charlie lifts her head, hair flowing, horns out, eyes red but different, and her long mustache twitching. Her brows are furrowed in anger but beneath the mustache, a maniacal smile stretches wide, giving off a palpably disturbing aura. Then, with not even a trace left of her former self, a familiar British voice rings out, with less of the theatrics and more of a menacing aura than ever had before: "Looks like it's time for the Diabolical Danny-Do-Bad to show Mr. Vox what happens to bad boys."
Danny snaps her fingers and within moments, Razzle rushes out onto the rooftop, transforming into his full demon dragon form. Before anyone can protest or do or say anything, she hops on his back and rides off.
-
The limo returns Vox and Velvette to V Tower, where both take the elevator up to their respective floors. Vox walks into his penthouse, his heels clicking and echoing off the walls, as he sighs with satisfaction at how the day turned out.
He plops down onto the side of his bed, still grinning while replaying the deliciously indignant expressions of Charlie and the others in his head. That'll teach that royal brat not to blindly trust in anyone, especially a mega-corporation. He scoffs. Or Alastor. His gaze veers off to the side as he loses his train of thought, once again, letting his mind be taken over by thoughts of Alastor Alastor Alastor.
Vox briefly smacks himself out of it, a lazy smile returning to his face thinking about his tantalizing grand plans to take over heaven. A tickle felt on the back of his screen causes him to absent-mindedly rub at it when he feels something furry. He looks up from the floor into the reflection of his closet doors. Next to his cartoonishly widened eyes, a long, quivering mustache hovers ominously above his right shoulder, attached to a familiar blonde nuisance looking positively fiendishly incensed.
Just as Vox tries to whip around to grab at her, Danny cackles and manifests thick rubber ties around his wrists, grabs him by the collar, spinning around and throwing his body into the headboard, which snaps in half. Pissed and groaning with pain, Vox belts out, "What the FUCK are you doing, Princess? Surely you don't think this would help your image after today?" He chuckles then tries to teleport away, but the ties stop him. He growls.
Danny deadpans. Then gleefully snickers, climbing onto the bed closer to Vox, looming over his widening eyes. "Princess? I'm afraid Charlie isn't here right nowww."
His eyes flitting between Danny's, Vox suddenly takes in her whole appearance, noting her full demon form concurrently with her Danny-Do-Bad outfit. He tries to zap away again with a slight increase in panic, tries to point his finger and blast away at Danny but nothing. Everything is at a dead halt. He can't use any electricity whatsoever, and he feels a helpless, bone deep sensation of being locked away in solitary.
"Enough." With speed, Danny tugs Vox's wrists up over his head and conjures a structure to securely fasten them in place atop the headboard. Vox growls again, trying to pull his hands down, to no avail. His strength seems to be sapped as well. Before he can try to kick with his legs, there's suddenly restraints on them too, multiple bands and belts crisscrossing up to his torso, keeping them bent at the knees, then a final tie around his torso wrapping around the entirety of the bed.
Vox is speechless with disbelief, but only for a moment. "Get me the fuck out of these stupid things, and I promise I'll go easy on you once I'm—"
Snip. Snip. Danny makes quick work of Vox's pants, slicing off the entirety of the part covering his crotch with her conjured scissors. "You were saying?" She strokes her mustache.
Vox's face has fallen. "You must be joking."
She deadpans once more, the poofing sound of her newly conjured strap-on sliding onto her front as her only response. Vox tracks the bobbing of the strap-on with his eyes, which twitch, a deep panic filling his insides like drowning lungs filling treacherously with water.
Danny's face lights up in sadistic glee, the panicked glow of Vox's screen lending an incredibly eerie lighting to her face. She anchors herself on either side of his hips with her hands, cackling at his angry and fearful expression and his body struggling against the restraints as she aligns her strap-on with his entrance.
She immediately thrusts it in, repeatedly going in and out, hard and aggressive, lacking any mercy just as he lacked any when pouring his cruelty over Angel. Vox lets out loud yelps of pain, the lack of prep sending a terrible nauseating burn through his hole and up his insides, roaring through his synapses, error messages increasingly filling up his view frantically begging him to address the cause of the overload.
Desperate, past the point of dignity, he yells out, "Stop!! Charlie, STOP—"
The sound of a slap echoes in the room.
Silence. Then—
"Charlie isn't here right now!" Danny forces through gritted teeth, to a slack-jawed Vox. "So you better get my name right if you don't want things to get any worse." She punctuates the end of her sentence with a suddenly-manifested whip—littered with dozens of small spikes at the end of it— struck hard across his torso, his immediate yelps and gasps like music to her ears.
"What's my name?" A thrash. Vox yells.
"What's?" Thrash. "My?" Thrash. "Name?!" Thrash.
"DANNY!" Vox suddenly blurts out, panting hard, head and chest both raging from the pain.
"That's right!" Danny smiles good-naturedly for a nanosecond, before unceremoniously getting right back to excavating his asshole.
She notices Vox's cock hardening with a disdainful look, then manifests saran wrap, wrapping it around his abdomen so he doesn't get any fluids on her, his weak protests in the background.
After a few minutes of more thrusting, her face grows flushed with exertion and pleasure. Pleasure in knowing Vox is getting a taste of his own medicine; not quite the same brand of medicine, but cruelty has so many different flavour profiles. Pleasure, in showing him what happens when you mess with Charlie's friends. Pleasure... in seeing that cocky, obnoxious, showman smile wiped off his ridiculous blue screen of a face, replaced with a teeth-grinding grimace, a sweat-drop filled face, eyes squeezed desperately shut and a small tear streaking down from his left eye.
Each thrust is punctuated with another yelp, as they slightly fade in volume, Vox possibly growing desensitized to the pain. Danny frowns. That won't do! She increases the intensity and the frequency of her thrusts, pulling in from her magical strength and power to give Vox the jackhammer sex of his lifetime, to the tune of Vox's pulsing pants and screams. Eventually, his screams hit a peak decibel level and he can't help but come, all inside the humiliatingly sealed saran wrap, with none of the usual enjoyment or relief that comes with it.
Danny sees more tears streaming down Vox's face, pixels gleaming a satisfying cyan blue. She strokes the trail with one finger, eyes narrowing and smile stretching with delight as her voice's accented lilt lets out a "Deeelicious."