Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

B-b-b-beep!

...

B-b-b-beep!

...Something was beeping.

B-b-b-beep!

Something was beeping, and Vox felt like shit.

B-b-b-beep! B-b-b-beep!

Seriously, what the fuck was that?

B-b-b-beep! B-b-b-beep!

With a soft click, Vox fed a signal to his internal relay and his screen roused from standby mode. Somewhere in his head, a couple of fans whirred to life.

Monitor Status
Active
Input: VOX

B-b-b-beep! B-b-b-beep!

“̷̷S̷̷h̷̷U̷̷t̷ ̷t̷̷H̷̷E̷ ̷F̷̷u̷̷C̷̷k̷ ̷U̷̷P̷ ̷...!” Vox’s voice came out as a crackling snarl, warped with oscillation - and muffled into soft fabric. He shoved himself upright...which was, coincidentally, how he realized he’d been lying down. Sleeping?

B-b-b-beep! B-b-b-beep!

Now that his screen was on, words flashed in one corner of his display, accompanied by the shrill beeping he now recognized as his alarm clock.

ALARM
9:15 AM
Vox-Mail Meeting
Re: Data Breach Report

Fuck. What time was it–?

8:55 AM

“Oh come on!” Vox fought his way free of shredded sheets, staggering to his feet. “How the...? What did I...?” He was still (mostly) fully dressed for fuck’s sake. What the hell had he gotten up to last night?

This was definitely one of his rooms - so whatever it was, he hadn’t gotten so sloppy he couldn’t get home. No one else was there, thank fuck, so he hadn’t been dumb enough to bring some bitch back here to get laid, either. If this was the result of another one of Val’s shitty drug cocktails, Vox was...going to...

Oh wait.

Oh no.

Last night’s memories asserted themselves all at once. He might've hoped it was a fever dream if he hadn’t been staring down the evidence. Instead, Vox looked at his ruined sheets with new, horrible understanding. Something in his head clicked, audibly, and his fans started to whir.

Valentino had– and then Vox had– and then Valentino had–

Fuck. Fuck his life.

B-b-b-beep! B-b-b-beep!

Vox killed the alarm and pressed the heel of one hand to his screen. His thoughts scrambled. Meeting. Right. He could push the meeting back. Or cancel it entirely. He’d done so for less, before. No one would bat an eye - hell, his employees would probably breathe a sigh of relief. Then he’d be free to deal with...with...

No, no, no. The meeting would be...good. It’d help him get his shit together, and honestly, he could use the stress relief of ruining some employees’ lives right now.

It was time for a bit of - of strategic disconnecting. He was prioritizing.

Vox’s eyes swept over the wreck he’d made of his bed. Then the wreck he’d made of himself. Electricity sparked in his hands, surged up his antennae. Shit.

He'd deal with the events of last night, later. Right now he had a meeting to get to, and less than ten minutes to make himself presentable.

Vox spent the next couple of hours internally seething behind a broad, razor-sharp smile. The minutes trickled by, only made bearable by channeling his fury into blunt, scathing, and downright cruel responses to the techs who'd been assigned to his company’s latest shitshow.

“–all said and done, sir, we're looking at approximately ten thousand confidential account breaches, rollbacks across the board, with an estimated loss of–”

Vox’s claws drummed on the tabletop. His other hand cradled a cup of cold, untouched coffee. His tongue ran along the backs of his teeth.

...Tasted like fucking cherry. His stomach twisted, and he interrupted the current speaker just to have something to do. “Hey. I have a question for...hm, how about...you.” He jabbed a claw at one of his employees - some fishy nerd - at random.

“Ah! Yes, sir! M-my name is–”

A loud, blaring buzzer sound effect cut the techie off. “Nice try!” Vox said. “But unfortunately, that wasn’t the question. What I want to know is: which worthless, soon-to-be-dead failure was in charge of our last security update?”

“O-oh.” The guppy-looking motherfucker fidgeted with his papers. He kept shooting desperate looks at his coworkers’ downturned faces. “I-i-i-i-i-i-it...th-that’s, that is, it’s a-a-a-a, a bit, a bit complicated, a-a-and–”

“A-a-a-and? Nevermind, shut up,” Vox snapped, his grin thinning - much like the ice these idiots were walking on. He sucked in a deep breath, let it back out. “Fine. Since the collective competency level in this room is apparently somewhere between barely-functional and entirely useless, allow me.”

Vox’s antennae sparked as he accessed the VMail servers via his personal connection. He dug through system files and root folders, pulled up the most recent vtek.mail.update.exe, and did a quick scan of its properties.

The last of his smile evaporated. He tossed screenshots of the files up over the last person’s powerpoint, still displayed across the far-side wall. “So when you said ‘complicated’ what you meant was, ‘we don’t know.’ Some fuckup on your team caused a security breach that is going to set VMail back months, and...we don’t know who’s responsible? We don’t know how it even happened?”

“We’re working on it, sir!” squawked another tech. His eyes cut over to her. Some sort of bird. “The access logs were scrubbed, but we’re restoring them now. We anticipate having the full metadata by the end of the week.” Vox’s expression narrowed, and the tech added, “...at...at the latest!”

Vox looked down at his coffee, tracing a finger around the rim of the mug. “...Do you know what we do to people who can’t pull their weight in this company?” he asked, thoughtfully. When he looked up, his left pupil pulsed spherical black waves. A faint, oscillating note pierced the air.

“Yes, sir!”

“...That was a rhetorical question, you idiot.”

The bird tech seemed to shrink into the fluffed feathers at her neck. “...oh.”

Vox swept his gaze over the room. The terrified expression on each tech’s face felt good, like a soothing balm to his frayed mood. He could use his programming mode (or hypnotism, or mind control, or brainwashing, or whatever the other idiot Overlords called it nowadays) on them. Their contracts with VoxTek meant they would always be susceptible to it. But he didn’t have to. They knew their places. They knew exactly who was in control.

“Hey.” he said. He leaned back in his chair and gestured broadly. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I mean, what would any of you know about rhetoric or proper monologue composition?”

The techs sat in cowed silence.

Vox pointed across the table. “Ex-actly!” he said. His grin returned. He blinked, and his eye returned to normal. “Now you’re getting it!” His employees were at attention, eyes on him. Every one of them feared they’d be called out next, and that Vox would find them wanting. That was how it was supposed to be. “See, that’s why you’re the ones running code, and I’m the one running the show. Now, I expect that metadata to be in my inbox by tomorrow morning, got it?”

Silence.

Vox grinned bigger. Meaner. “That one wasn’t rhetorical.”

A chorus of stuttering, panicked, “Yes, sir!” filled the room.

“Good!” Feeling better, Vox took a sip of his coffee. He promptly spat it back into the mug. “Gah, fuck - who the fuck made this?”

No, wait. He’d made it. Hours ago, before the meeting started, hands shaking as he...compartmentalized.

“Nevermind,” he said, loudly, before a peon could think to speak up. “You, Stutter Guy. Get me a new cup of coffee. And it better be good, or I’ll have you answering IT support calls for the next decade.”

The stuttering fish-nerd stared at him in what Vox could only assume was paralyzed fear. There was certainly no other good reason he was just sitting there.

“...Now,” Vox said, a single blip of electricity arcing between his claws. The techie scattered his papers as he scrambled from his chair and out of the room.

Vox swiveled in his chair to watch him go. That’s goddamn right.

After a suitably dramatic pause, he turned back around. “The rest of you, let's talk damage control. We need to make sure none of our customers see this as negligence - or hold us liable. We already sell most of these assholes’ personal data to the highest bidder, and they sign waivers for that, right?”

“T-that’s right, sir.”

Just like that, Vox was back in his element: clever, corporate manipulation of the masses. Vox populi vox dei. ‘The voice of the people is the voice of God.’ And by the time he was done, Vox would be the voice of the people, whether they knew it or not.

The day proceeded in its typical rush - packed to the brim with meetings of one kind or another. His mood brightened with each cozy reminder of how Hells's citizens saw him - powerful, competent, dangerous. And it darkened during every single lull in work, when his mind would, unerringly, return to the night before.

His neck still ached, where, beneath his shirt and the tight loop of his tie, a ring of vivid bite marks marred his skin. His wrists were bruised stratos blue. Vox found himself adjusting his collar and tugging on his shirt cuffs throughout the day.

Eventually, his five-o-clock broadcast had wrapped up, and Vox had nothing left on the day’s docket. A weight settled on his shoulders, heavy and foreboding.

...No. There was definitely something left to do. There was always something. Some scripts to approve, some ratings to compare, some products to review. Cameras needed surveilling, pockets needed lining, money needed spending. VoxTek didn’t move, didn’t breathe without his say-so. Vox was VoxTek Enterprises.

That...other thing, it could wait. Business first.

Vox didn't sleep for a week, pouring himself into work with a ruthless dedication that left his staff exhausted, and sinking every free minute he had into personal projects. He'd panned through surveillance feeds until they all started to blur together. He'd sent out his signals to every piece of VoxTek technology on the network, threading the same encoded message into every phone, screen, and speaker, again and again: Trust us. Trust us. Trust us. He tore through tech proposals, leaving manic commentary and feedback in the margins of the digital documents. He spat out new ideas and concepts with no real regard to coherency, and occasionally woke employees at three in the morning to demand they work on something that had caught his attention.

It wasn’t often that he got like this, but it had happened before. In a way, he relished it. If he didn’t want to stop, he didn’t have to stop. Topside workaholics didn’t have shit on him.

Whenever his energy flagged, he grabbed a handful of uppers or a gram of coke and washed them down with coffee - or whiskey. Whichever was in his mug at the time. When those didn’t work, he plugged himself into the network and leached energy from the grid until he was too amped up (literally) for sleep to be a remote possibility.

He’d sleep when he was double-dead. Or, at the very least, when he’d run out of work-shaped issues to chew through.

Maybe then he’d be ready to deal with Valentino.

The piece of shit himself. Val had been looking for him. Vox knew that because he knew everything that happened in his business - and he’d been watching the feeds when the moth pimp showed up uninvited to a few VoxTek locations. Asking if the boss was in. Once, he’d turned up at the right office, and Vox had vanished into the wiring rather than risk interacting with him.

Vox didn’t have the bandwidth to handle Val right now. He was letting that problem simmer; he’d work on it once he’d reduced it down into simple, actionable components. And once the memories stopped making his heart jump. And once the marks had faded.

In the interim, he kept Valentino on a monitor at all times - just in case. Just in case the prick got it in his head to brag about what he’d done, or got frustrated enough to threaten to spill the details. Just in case Vox needed to drop what he was doing and commit murder.

The smug prick had ruined their long-standing equipoise in a single shitty night, he wasn’t about to ruin Vox’s reputation, too.

But, no. Valentino seemed content to continue business as usual. It’d be a relief, if it didn’t mean Vox was keeping a feed open that was a wonderful, 24/7 reminder that Valentino fucked. And he did it a lot. And when he wasn’t fucking, he was usually directing other people fucking.

Every time Val pinned one of his whores against a door or jammed his dick in an open mouth, the power surged in Vox’s office. Every time the moth’s mouth pressed to another’s, Vox could taste cherry, and static swept across his screens.

It was a nightmare. Vox wasn’t desperate - wasn’t stupid. He’d never before, not in life and not in Hell, tried fucking around with someone if he couldn’t control them afterward. What the fuck had he been thinking?

Vox glared out the window as dawn slunk in, muddy and orange. He barely tasted the acidic dregs of his coffee as he downed another mug. His circuits were humming, buzzing, scrambled with mixed frequencies and noise created by his own erratic power consumption. Something beyond fatigue was setting in. He’d hit a lull in his workload, and found himself pressing a claw to the aching wound at his neck, thoughts comfortably absent.

With more than a little frustration, he set himself to writing scripts for new commercials - stubbornly ignoring the way his processes lagged behind each internal command.

...Fuck, how much had he had to drink?

Vox looked down at the glass in his hand. It was full, but the buzzing in his head assured him it wasn’t his first of the night. He was at a private table, seated in a barrel-back chair upholstered in dark crimson. Thick curtains were pulled back to either side of his alcove, offering the possibility of privacy, if desired. A soft haze clouded the edges of his vision, smeared the club’s - was it a club? - lights in bleary halos. Music thudded through his skull, some electronica mix that had his heart pounding along in time with the relentless four-on-the-floor rhythm.

Where...?

He looked up. A long, cherry-pink runway and stage stood in the distance, lit to blinding with recessed LEDs. A stage pole stood at the end of the runway, straddled on all sides by more red chairs. Definitely a club. Pinks, deep reds, and hearts. Had to be one of Val’s. Why wasn’t someone up there, dancing?

Actually, no one was there at all. No strippers, no dancers, no customers, no staff. The club was empty. Closed? Why was he still...?

“Vox.”

Vox blinked. He tilted his head back.

His reflection stared down at him from a set of rose-tinted, heart-shaped glasses. “Oh,” he said. “Val.”

Or. Did he?

Well, he thought he said it, anyway.

The moth loomed over him, lower hands braced on the arms of his chair. Valentino was grinning, amused, his fedora at a jaunty angle and his antennae curled forward. He had his cigarette holder cradled in one hand; a pink haze drifted from the slow-smoldering tip. It flared briefly as Val brought it to his mouth and took a drag.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked on the exhale. Smoke billowed from his red grin, curled around the edges of Vox’s screen. He looked good. “You haven’t even touched your drink.”

“Of course I have.” Hell, he was pretty sure he was blackout drunk.

Vox lifted his drink, looked at it. “Oh. I mean. Not this one.” He brought the glass to his mouth to correct that mistake, but paused. The glass wasn’t, as he’d originally thought, full of whiskey. Instead of amber gold, the liquor was pink - bright, viscous, and familiar.

A flush of electrical heat tinted Vox’s screen cyan. Something hot twisted in his gut.

“This is...?”

Valentino’s warm chuckle cut him off. He draped two arms over Vox’s shoulders. Long-clawed black hands swept across his vest. He’d always had that easy, natural confidence. Vox could fake it - broadcast a smile and perform with the best - but Valentino...

“Live a little, Voxy~” he said, voice honey-warm, his words spoken softly to the back of Vox’s screen.

Vox’s heart hammered in his chest. D-dum-d-dum-d-dum-d-dum. Four on the floor, just like the music, never missing a beat.

He couldn't. He couldn't.

Why can't I? he thought, suddenly furious with himself. He tossed the drink back like it was a shot, not a full glass of–

It tasted like cherries. Like roses and cigarette smoke.

A hand reached up - and gripped Val’s arm. A blue-clawed hand. His hand. Vox sighed, tipped his stupid TV monitor back until it hit the chair. His head buzzed; warm, heady.

“I,” said Vox.

Or. He wanted to say it.

“Val. I want you to...”

“I know, I know~” Valentino said. He leaned in, grin razor-sharp. “I got you.”

On day nine, Vox startled awake with a gasp, heart racing.

His systems were chugging, his brain fried from the week-long work-bender. It took him a moment to realize he was waking up - that he had been asleep. He was slumped facedown, screen buried in his folded arms.

Vox sat up and established that, yes, he had passed out at his desk. Cables still connected him to his network, and pages of feverish notes spanned every monitor in the room. His neck and shoulders ached like he’d been in a fucking coma.

And, also, he was hard.

The lingering fragments of his dream - a club, a glass of pink, Val leaning in - were enough to set his antennae sparking, and Vox shot out of his chair so fast it tipped over backward and hit the floor.

“Come ̷O̷̷N̷!” he screeched, audio blaring, fury grinding his voice into a robotic mess. “̷R̷̷e̷̷a̷̷l̷̷l̷̷y̷?!” Claws shrieked across his desk, then reached up to grip the sides of his monitor. “The first time I sleep?! We’re doing ̷t̷̷h̷is?! ...Okay! Okay. Calm down. I'm calming down. I’m calm. Deep breaths.” Vox breathed in. Out.

‘You know, if you wanted a little attention yourself, aaaaall you had to do was ask.’

In, out.

‘Oh, really? That doing somethin’ for ya, Voxy?’

In, out.

‘Hold still, hm? Daddy’s working.’

in, out, in out, in out in out–

‘Good boy, Voxy.’

Once they’d started, the memories kept coming, looping, restarting, recursing with no end condition, flooding his RAM with garbage. Vox panted, leaning over his console for stability. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he reminded himself, out loud. “I'm just... I'm tired! I’m overworked. My brain was just trying to process the problem in my sleep, and it failed, and it got weird. It's not a big deal. It doesn't mean anything, and I'll get – I'll get over it. I’m gonna get over it right now!”

Vox faintly registered the manic grin on his screen, aware of it like it belonged to someone else. He straightened up and smoothed his hands down his shirt - wrinkled beyond any hope of salvation and thick with static cling.

Righting his chair, Vox sat and rolled back to his desk. According to his internal systems, he’d lost a solid day (explained the stiffness in his neck). And, of course, VoxTek had floundered in his absence. A truly impressive number of emails filled his inbox, increasing in urgency the later in the day they had arrived. His phone’s voicemail was full, which he didn’t even know was possible. He’d missed a meeting to discuss the renewal of a long-running series, and according to a panicked text from his secretary, the series’ lead writer had taken his lack of attendance so poorly he’d thrown himself out a window.

Which, honestly? Was pretty hilarious. And good riddance. Vox didn’t need anyone who couldn’t handle a bit of ambiguous pressure. If the guy recovered (the text wasn’t clear if the writer was a sinner or hellborn), Vox would stuff his ass in the editing department or something.

It was 7:44 PM - too late to salvage any of the work day’s messes, so Vox sank his attention into damage mitigation for the morning. He replied to emails, culled his voicemails, and read through resumes for possible lead writer replacements.

All the while, he ran a search in the background. He needed a bar, club, or hangout completely off Valentino’s radar. Somewhere he could pick up some warm bodies and work through his current...hangups. Letting the problem simmer hadn’t worked - so he’d boil it. That’s what you did to disinfect things anyway, right?

Chapter Text

It didn’t work.

Another week passed, it didn’t work, and Vox was left more annoyed after each successive failure.

He’d spent every night of the past week going out. He’d gotten drunk, high, both, neither - and fucked as wide a variety of souls as he could muster. Tall sinners, bug sinners, smugly confident succubi of both genders. He’d tried men that looked like women, women that looked like men, and those weird types that were some mix of both. He’d let a few bitches ride him, and ordered a few more to hold him down (after he had them under his programming).

Some of it was good. Some of it was really good, even.

But none of it was like that night.

Meanwhile, the losers working VMail security had accomplished nothing, as far as he could tell. They were busy chasing dead ends, hunting down user IDs that never existed, tracing connections back to spoofed IP addresses. Nothing concrete, nothing Vox could pull a real identity from. He’d made an example of the tech who’d had the misfortune to be the bearer of bad news on a morning when Vox was already in a foul mood. But, of course, not even the threat of grievous bodily harm could make his techs less fucking stupid.

It’d made Vox feel a bit less bitter over his shitty night, though, so not a total wash.

The lead writer fiasco also continued - apparently the moron who’d taken a swan-dive from the executive conference room had been the only fucker with any idea where his series was heading. And, no, he hadn’t been a sinner demon. Of course not, because that’d be too easy! Too simple! Hell forbid Vox take one mid-day nap without an entire writing division descending into chaos!

If he had to spend one more afternoon listening to the show’s writers argue themselves into an incoherent frenzy over the intended direction of season seven of Sins of the Father, he was going to kill them all.

Not to mention the looming problem that Valentino had become. The moth still hadn’t done anything in public, but he’d thrown enough tantrums aimed at Vox’s cameras that Vox imagined it was just a matter of time. Val was mauling his whores so badly it’d be weeks before they’d be fit for the camera again, wrecking equipment - expensive equipment - equipment that came out of Vox’s pocket - beyond any hope of recovery, and ruining his studio in fits of unpredictable rage.

In private, Val had been babbling promises and sneering insults, head angled up to Vox’s cameras like he was addressing Vox face-to-face. It irked Vox, that Valentino seemed so sure he’d be watching, listening...but then, he was right.

And that just pissed him off more.

So, all in all, Vox’s week had been just, fucking, aces.

Vox knew he could only avoid Valentino for so long. For one, they were business partners, and Val’s fits translated into a clear profit loss. For another, they were Overlords. Vox absolutely would not have Val thinking Vox was afraid of him.

‘You know what I’d do to you.’

Because, ultimately, Vox wasn’t scared of Valentino. He was worried he was going to have to fucking kill him.

He kept thinking if he just knew what this was about, he could get over it. What did Valentino - of all fucking sinners - have, that Vox couldn’t find somewhere else?

He’d considered the possibility that it was just the toxin. As much as the idea had made something in him recoil in disgust, Vox did like drugs, and Val’s shit was the strongest E he’d ever had. But at the end of the day, Vox knew he’d been eyeballing Valentino well before he’d learned the moth’s pheromones could affect him. That was just–

...Well, that was just something else to think about.

He didn’t get it. Fifty years in Hell, and now he was having some sort of - of - of identity crisis?

All the shit Valentino seemed convinced Vox wanted - there was no fucking way he could be right. To be blunt, Vox knew he wasn’t a...a bottom. He wasn’t submissive or timid, weak or passive. He definitely wasn’t fucking feminine.

He was powerful, confident, commanding. Vox manipulated the masses in ways topside media could only dream of. They danced to his tune and stepped on each others’ throats for what he offered - entertainment, technology, information, safety, security, protection, food, alcohol, drugs. Anything, everything, whatever. They might not like it, they might not want him, but they fucking needed him. They had no choice but to trust him. He’d dragged them out of the dark ages, practically on his own. He’d handed them modern technology on a platter.

Vox pulled the strings behind the scenes of most businesses currently operating out of Pentagram City (a couple of stubborn technology-free zones notwithstanding), and he did it all with style and a smile.

Vox was...he was... For fuck’s sake, he was an Overlord in Hell.

He’d be an idiot, a moron, to show an ounce of vulnerability to any of the freaks down here. Even if he killed them after - even if he re-programmed their memories so they never knew it’d happened - that sort of vulnerability was a weakness. And, god, that went double for other Overlords. To want – whatever it was Val thought he wanted – and from Valentino, an absolute sexual psychopath –

To want that – was –

It was–

It was fine, because he didn’t.

He didn’t.

He just needed to figure out what he did want, and everything could go back to normal.

Chapter Text

So.

As it turned out, Vox was a fucking brat. Somehow, Valentino wasn’t surprised.

Honestly, nothing about their entire sex episode came as a surprise - except maybe that Vox hadn’t tried to kill him over it.

It didn't surprise him that Vox was a petty brat.

It didn't surprise him that he had sabotaged Valentino’s sex life just because he couldn’t admit he was down bad for moth dick.

It didn't surprise him that Vox was so deep in denial he’d convinced himself the only reason they’d fucked was because Valentino’s pheromones made him too horny to refuse - and not, oh, say, the fact that Vox had been aroused the second Val started talking blowjobs, hard as a rock the moment Val had grabbed his wrists, and moaning like a bitch as soon as Val put his tongue in his mouth.

And it definitely didn’t surprise him that Vox had spent the last month ghosting him like a prima donna bitch. Like magic, wherever Valentino was, Vox wasn’t - and between his spreading surveillance network and his circuit-jumping trick, Vox had the means to make sure it stayed that way.

It wasn’t a surprise. But it pissed him off. Valentino didn’t mind a challenge, a bit of cat and mouse, but this was pretty un-fucking-fair. How the fuck was he supposed to smooth things over if the TV-headed little shit wouldn’t even let his calls go through?

Valentino had taken to ranting and cooing at surveillance cameras in his downtime, although he could only assume the voyeur was still keeping his all-seeing-eye on him. It was impossible to tell, now; Vox had made it a top priority to fix the cameras. Less than a day after Valentino revealed his secret, the camera lights had been reprogrammed. Now they glowed a steady blue, at all times.

“I get it, amorcito,” he said on Monday morning, his voice low, reassuring. “I understand. It was a one-time thing, it's no big deal. We’ll talk, yeah?”

The next week, after a particularly shitty shoot, he’d stalked into his office covered in blood, hands still twitching with violence. “You miserable little bitch,” he snarled. “Who do you think you are, pendejo? You think you can just ignore me? String me along? You’re nothing without me! Nothing!”

Later on, after he’d had some time (and benzos) to calm down, he’d winked up at the studio camera. “Sorry babe,” he said. “You know how I get. I just want you to know...” and with a glance at the crew, hustling to get the set ready for their next scene, added in a lower tone, “nothing’s changed, right? We’re professionals. We’re partners. Come down to one of the shoots, we’ll talk business. Just business.” And, with a liar’s grin, “Promise.”

A few days ago, he’d had enough drugs in his system that the ceiling was running like a river current, and been so positive the camera on the wall was watching him, mocking him, that he’d reached up to grab it. “You’re the creepy little twink who started this in the first place,” he hissed, cradling the lens like it was Vox’s face. “You think I need this? You think I care, cariño? No. I got plenty enough bitches and sluts to keep my dick occupied for fucking eternity.”

He leaned in closer, closer, wanted to taste the current flowing from him to Vox, wanted to dig his fingers into the blinking blue light. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but your pissy little ass is the last hole I want to fuck. So get down here and talk to me.”

...He’d also been tearing his employees apart, because the one-sided venting wasn’t nearly enough. He knew Vox knew about that; clean-up crews were always there within the hour to mop up the blood and viscera, replace carpets, repair holes in the walls, order new equipment, etcetera. Vox was the one who handled all that.

Usually, Vox was also the one to remind Valentino to keep profits in mind before dumping two magazines of bullets into someone, or turning their insides into their outsides and then painting them across the studio walls.

But, no. Vox had been relaying important business information to him through his assistants. Like Valentino was some nobody. The last three weekly meetings had been handled by Vox’s fucking secretaries. During the last one, Valentino had emptied a revolver into the jellyfish-looking bitch. She’d been dumb enough to ask if doing lines of coke mid-report was really necessary, so he didn’t feel too bad about it, either. Weren’t Vox’s bitches supposed to be smart?

Valentino considered himself a goddamn saint for not forcing the issue like they both knew he could. All it'd take was a few choice words, a casual mention of why Vox hadn't been down to the studio in weeks. Vox would zip-zap his twink ass over in an instant to save his precious reputation, there was zero doubt in Valentino's mind.

But that would lead to a fight. And what Valentino wanted - what he was waiting for, patient as a crocodile in the water - was for Vox to come to him. He had a finger on the pulse of the media demon’s kinks in a way no one else did...even the idiota himself. Unless Vox had found another way of getting what he wanted (the thought had crossed his mind once or twice, immediately followed by violence), it was only a matter of time before Vox caved.

That was why, when Valentino received a text notification from Vox, three and a half weeks after putting his dick in Vox’s mouth, he nearly broke the thing in half flipping it open.

Three and a half fucking weeks. Sure, they had all of eternity down here, but it was still ridiculous.

...If Vox had gone and written up a whole-ass new contract around ‘no boning business partners’, Valentino was gonna go fucking postal.

He snapped his fingers at his feathery simp of a director. “Keep it going,” he said, gesturing with one claw to the production underway: a robust orgy with the working title Fuckfest 2000.

Shit, if all it took to get Vox’s attention was murdering VoxTek employees, Val would’ve done that on week one.

Meeting, the message read. 9:00 PM. Followed by an address Valentino had never seen in his life.

Val quirked an eyebrow.

On one hand, nine o'clock was only a few hours away, and the unfamiliar meeting location felt pretty fucking suspicious. As in, it would be weirder if this wasn’t a set-up for an angelic weapon assassination. The terms of their deal precluded betrayals and murders, for the most part, but if anyone were going to slip a backdoor between the lines of a contract, it’d be Vox.

On the other hand, Vox was a conniving, calculating bitch with a deep-seated need for attention and theatrics. He’d probably execute a double-cross with more flare than...this. Probably.

Just in case, Valentino squinted down at his phone’s tiny, shitty screen and mashed away at its tiny, shitty keypad.

>are you going to be at this meeting?

Any other time he would’ve added a ‘baby’ or ‘papi’ to give it the proper Valentino style. He hoped Vox took note of the fucking sacrifices he made for this partnership.

Vox’s response came back almost instantly.

>>Yes.

>should i be worried?

>>About what?

>murder, etc?

>>Our contract is still in effect.

>sure. should i be worried?

>>No, Val. It’s just business.

>’it’s just business’ is what i tell bitches who owe me money before i shoot one of their loved ones.

A pause.

>>Who would I shoot, one of your whores? You do enough of that for both of us.

Valentino’s expression soured. Maybe if you weren’t being a pissy virginal bitch over a bit of good sex, I wouldn’t have to shoot whores while imagining their faces are your glitchy little screen.

...With restraint that deserved an award of some sort, Valentino didn’t send that.

>what’s at this address, then?

This time, the answer wasn't immediate. Valentino waited a minute, then distracted himself by diving into the production, spitting threats and insults to a few of the more lackluster performers.

He snatched a copy of the script from Trevor - or was it Travis? - and made a few spur-of-the-moment edits: more aggression, more violence, more, more, more. He lit a cigarette as he dragged a couple of understudies into the scene, shoving them into position and filling the set with a hazy cloud of pink pheromones. The cameramen and lighting crew hurried to compensate for the new additions, and a couple of imps scurried around just outside of punting range, micing the understudies and applying last-minute touch-ups to makeup and wardrobe.

“Let’s see some fucking enthusiasm, people,” Valentino barked. He opened his mouth, then paused as his cell phone blipped with a new text notification, then two more, in rapid succession. His antennae flicked. “...We’re filming a porn, not a sex documentary. Get your shit together or we’re turning this orgy into a fucking snuff film. Got it?”

He gestured broadly with his cigarette as he stalked back to his chair. “Action!”

He draped himself artfully in his seat and pulled out his phone.

>>It’s my private office.

>>One of them.

>>Will you be there or not?

Valentino blinked. His mood flipped, neatly, from murderous to excited. Maybe still a little murderous.

Vox rarely hosted their meetings, and when he did, he always used one of his proxy companies. VoxTek’s sterile, pristine conference rooms were part of the reason Val insisted on meeting at his venues, most of the time. Vox’s private offices, his little command centers, were explicitly off-limits - Valentino knew they existed, but that was about the extent of his knowledge.

Well, as of a few weeks ago, he knew one of them had a bedroom; Vox had even described it to him in detail.

Valentino took a long, deep pull from his cigarette. Probably, Vox hadn’t arranged a meeting at one of his private offices so Val could finally bend him over and fuck the fragile masculinity right out of him. It didn’t stop him from imagining.

>sure. i’ll be there.

Chapter Text

The elevator doors opened on a spotless studio apartment. It wasn’t an abandoned warehouse and a gang of hired hitmen, so that was nice. Still, Valentino felt a bit underwhelmed; the open space, like any Voxtek location, looked thoroughly unlived-in. No messes, no memorabilia, no personal touches. No fun little secrets. Stark white walls, black granite floors polished to a flawless shine.

Vox was there to meet him, standing a professional distance away from the elevator doors, hands held behind his back as always. He was dressed to the nines, also as always - suit vest, starched-white shirt, bowtie in place. So there went the idea of seeing Vox in casual attire. Actually, maybe this was casual attire for Vox. No suit coat: how scandalous.

“In light of recent developments, I have a few stipulations,” Vox said instead of a greeting, “for the continued partnership of our businesses.”

“Mm, of course. Sounds exciting,” Valentino said. “Why the fuck is it so bright in here?” Even with his sunglasses, he felt like he should be squinting. It was more overlit than one of Vox’s old-ass movies in here, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s not bright, it’s well lit.” Vox didn’t move as Valentino approached. “You should get out of your clubs more. Isn’t your eyesight already bad enough?”

“Nah, it’s crazy-fucking-bright,” Valentino said, head craned, checking out Vox’s office space. “Oh, and fuck you. My vision’s twenty-twenty where it counts.” Big couch, bigger television, and a black coffee table to the right. A wall of full-length windows to the left overlooked the sprawling entertainment district below, and a long-ass glass table stretched alongside them. An impossible array of monitors, keyboards, and computer shit devoured the entire back wall, every screen set to the VoxTek screensaver. He quirked his head. “Where’s the kitchen?”

He turned to find Vox staring at him with open disdain. “Do I look like a fucking housewife to you?” the media demon asked. “Why would I have a kitchen?”

Figuring Vox likely wouldn’t appreciate his first thought - that Fucking Housewives sounded like a good pitch for a 50s-themed porn anthology - Valentino offered his second, instead. “Where do you keep the coffee and whiskey?”

Vox squinted at him and seemed to be calculating. “In the bar,” he said, eventually. “Where else?” He gestured with one hand at an ornate countertop over by the front wall. There did, on second glance, seem to be an espresso maker on top - as well as a tower-and-tap style faucet coming out of the lacquered black surface.

“You have whiskey on tap?” Valentino asked, almost impressed.

“...I have water on tap.” Vox said, a brittle edge of impatience in his tone. “For the coffee. If you want something, get it yourself. Then we’ve got business to handle.”

Valentino frowned, but he curbed his temper. “Fine, fine. ...Qué dolor...” He headed over to Vox’s minibar, stooping in half to rummage through it. He’d been given permission, after all. While he was fairly certain Vox’s tastes were about as vanilla as you could expect from a white man from the 50s, his bar, at least, had a good bit of variety.

“Ooo,” Valentino trilled with approval, pulling an untouched bottle from the cabinet. “Añejo tequila! Now I know you didn’t stock this yourself, Vox.” He unscrewed the cap and tossed it somewhere, then took a healthy swig straight from the bottle and sauntered to Vox’s table.

“You’re welcome,” Vox muttered, eyes on the cap Valentino had just thrown on his floor. “Shall we?” He gestured for Val to sit.

“Hmm.” Valentino raked his gaze over Vox. “You first,” he decided.

Val wasn’t sure how it was possible, but Vox managed to look even more tense. A faint buzz radiated from his monitor, and a spark zipped across his antennae. Valentino waited.

Vox heaved a deep sigh of his own, glancing up at the ceiling like he was asking the Holy Spirit for strength - or maybe for a bit of divine judgment. Like they hadn’t already had plenty of that. “Fine,” he said. He moved to the other end of the table in a few short, stiff-legged strides and took a seat. He gestured to Val. “Happy?”

“Happy?” Valentino repeated. Because he knew it wasn’t what Vox would like, he rounded the table and took the chair directly to Vox’s left. He sat with one arm hooked over the back, long legs crossed, back straight to emphasize the height difference between them. He took another sip of tequila. “Am I happy? What do you think, Vox?”

Vox’s showman’s grin made its first appearance of the night. “I think you should be ecstatic,” the media demon said - his tone a dark, stark contrast to his expression. “Considering you’re still alive after everything that happened.”

Yep. Here it was. ‘Wah wah, how dare you call me out for getting horny in your club?’ ‘Boo hoo, how dare you make me come twice in a single hour?’

“Ooh, I should be ecstatic,” Valentino said.

He turned his eyes to the tequila bottle as he spoke, sloshing it back and forth. “That's good shit, babe. I should be happy when you ghost me like a bad first date. You know, the last pendejo who treated me like you did this last month? I put an angelic bullet in his brain - but I made him beg for it. As far as I’m concerned,” he took a drink, lifted another hand, and swiped it through the air, “we’re even.”

“Even?” said Vox. His grin dipped into a scowl, easy as that.

“Yeah, even. I kissed your mouth and made you come,” Valentino sneered, his fangs flashing. “Then you ignored me for weeks. You sent your nobodies to handle our business.” He tsked. “If you wanna whine about how I’m treating my bitches, you talk to me. If I wanna remind you how much money I make you, I talk to you, not one of your secretary sluts.”

For a moment, Vox just stared. He leaned back in his chair. “No way,” he said with a new, incredulous smile. “No fucking way! You're actually mad I haven't been holding your fucking hand the past month?”

“I'm mad because you decided to act like a bitch,” Valentino growled. “This little shitshow is your fault, and you’re pretending it's mine.”

Vox knocked back his chair as he stood, palms flat on the table, claws cutting lines into the glass. His paper-thin mask dropped, leaving him glaring at Valentino with teeth bared. Circles pulsed in in his left eye. “My fault?! I–”

“Your. Fault.” Valentino jabbed his finger at Vox. “You fucked me over, first, remember? You thought you could get away with blue-balling me? Me? Interrupting me like some saucy, jealous little whore whenever you pleased? I’ve killed for much, much less. You’re lucky I’ve been so patient!”

“...L-Lucky?!” Electricity flashed over Vox in fits and starts, sparking where his hands pressed against the tabletop. “You drugged me,” Vox snarled, “and stuck your dick in my mouth. You thought I’d just let it go?!”

Valentino took a long swallow of tequila, set it off to one side, and stood up to tower over the other sinner, eyes narrowed in the deep shadow of his hat. His antennae flicked. “No,” he drawled with an unfriendly grin. “I thought you’d do exactly what you’re doing now. Acting like a piece of shit, refusing to admit you started all this because you wanted everything I gave you and more, papi.”

“YYYou gangly prick-”

Vox reached out and seized him by his ruff. Immediately, every strand of fur and hair on his body stood on end, rippling with static. Vox’s current surged with a dangerous hum. He’d heard it before, usually moments before someone got their asses fried. Valentino reached out to grab Vox, make him let go - pull his arms off, if that’s what it took - when something hit him.

Vox... Vox smelled like a storm. It’d been a month, nearly, but it instantly reminded Valentino of his mouth, his blood. Sharp, metallic, biting.

Val blinked, eyes wide. Oh, wasn’t that rich?

“You think you can get away with–” Vox was saying when Valentino cut him off.

“Wait. You... Ahahahaha–” Valentino couldn’t help himself. Vox let go of him like he’d been zapped, for once, and Val latched onto his chair with his lower arms for support, cackling like a maniac. “Oh, this is great! This is amazing!”

“What? Fuck you!” Vox spat. “What the fuck are you laughing at, you piece of-”

“Vox, you’re turned on right now?”

“T-?” Vox’s expression buffered into angry confusion. “What the hell? No, I’m not!”

Valentino grinned, bright and cruel. “I wasn’t asking,” he said, leaning into Vox’s space, now that he had his in. “Did you already forget that I can tell?”

“No, I didn’t,” Vox said. “But I’m not– ...I’m not? I’m...?” He stopped, pupils darting. Self-examining. He looked betrayed, somehow. “Am I?”

Vox took a step back and pressed his claws to his antennae like any normal person might push their fingers into their hair.

This was so pathetic. Valentino wasn’t sure if he was still pissed or just entertained, now. “You sure are, pendejo.” He put a hand on his hip.

“You really are a piece of work, huh?” he purred. “Now I can’t tell if it’s me that gets you hard, or arguments in general.”

Vox’s gaze jumped back over to him. “Can you shut the fuck up?” he spat. “I...I’m trying to...”

“Think of a good excuse?” Valentino guessed.

“̷N̷̷O̷!̷” The penthouse’s too-bright lights wavered and dimmed.

Vox took a few deep breaths - Valentino watched his chest heave with them. “No,” Vox said, calmer this time. The lights brightened again, which, honestly, Valentino could’ve done without. “Look. This is why I... I was going to...” A few more breaths. His hands swept down his vest like he was wiping off sweaty palms - or trying to smooth down the already-immaculate fabric. “We got off on the wrong foot, here. I’m not looking for a fight.” In a nearly sullen undertone, he added, “Everything always seems to go to hell so fast with you.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one with a problem,” Valentino said. “This is all you. Which is what I’ve been saying from the start.”

Smoothing his hands over his vest a few more times, Vox sighed. “Look. What I meant to say was, we need to amend our contract. We need to lay down some clear boundaries, just to ensure things run smoother in the future.”

Valentino crossed his upper set of arms. Unless clear boundaries were going to get rid of Vox’s boners, he didn’t see how some amendment was going to solve this little dilemma. Still, he played along for now. “You know what? Fine. Lay them on me, baby. What changes do you want?”

Entertaining Vox’s love for corporate bullshit was better than starting a fight in Vox’s territory. Vox had the power advantage here, and access to fuckloads of technology. Val didn’t even know how to get the elevator doors open - Vox was apparently too good for normal-ass buttons.

Vox studied him for a long moment. His gaze shifted briefly, longingly, to the coffee-slash-liquor bar behind him, before he clicked his tongue and sat back down, now with an air of sheepishness.

“First of all, no more drugging me with your roofie pheromone saliva. I don’t know how that slipped through my initial provision against non-consensual drugging in the first place,” Vox muttered, sourly, like he was somehow more pissed about his failure to write a watertight contract than being drugged. “Agreed?”

Valentino tilted his head. He could point out to Vox that the contract terms probably would’ve worked if Vox hadn’t obviously wanted it - but that was just more shit Vox didn’t want to hear. “Sure, babe,” he said. “It’s your loss.~ In exchange, though, no more interruptions.”

“What?” Vox looked like he was holding back a laugh. “At all? Ever? No - you need more specific wording. Your fuck sessions can’t take priority if there’s a business emergency.” Vox frowned at his hands, lacing them tightly together on the table. He had his negotiating face on.

Usually, the TV demon insisted on proper documentation for this sort of thing - but Val had lost his temper trying to read Vox’s tiny, pinched handwriting or a document typed out on a shitty little tablet device one too many times. Now, aside from major deals with souls on the line, Valentino and Vox tended to freeform it. Or, if Vox did insist on a written record, Valentino brought along one of his own to read it to him. It was less likely Vox could hide bullshit terms and conditions in legalese that way.

“I will,” Vox said, slowly, “to the best of my ability, only interrupt you if you are required for business matters.”

“Ha! Everything’s business matters to you. I bet you could make up fifteen business matters you need me for right now. Here, let me try.” Valentino dropped back into his own seat and reached for his tequila. “No more interrupting me when I’m about to fuck someone.”

“What? No! You’re always fucking someone!” Vox shot back.

“Oh, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Valentino purred.

Vox made a show of taking a deep breath. “How about... I won’t interrupt you, if the reason I want to do so is because I-” He stopped, and his mouth twisted. “...because it pisses me off. There.”

Valentino’s eyebrows rose. “Pisses you off,” he repeated with an amused little smirk. “Is that what it does?” He stopped, thinking. “Is that why you’re so grumpy? You’ve spent the last month watching me fucking ar–”

“I’ve spent the last month working.” Vox’s hands twitched, sparking with electricity. “Putting out the fires that you keep starting, weeding out the actionable data from our last security nightmare, proofreading scripts for the worthless shills we call writers–” He picked up speed as he rattled off all the boring shit he got up to, clearly getting caught up in it. “–keeping tabs on all of Carbine’s latest buyers, rolling out new merch, calculating next quarter’s inventory estimates, forging documents for land deeds over on the city border, negotiating terms for–”

“Okay, okay,” Valentino interrupted for the sake of his sanity. He took a drink, then leaned in a bit. “Well, that certainly explains why you’re so sour. And the bags under your eyes.”

“I don’t have–” Vox cut himself off. “Nevermind. The point is, I’ve had better things to do than watch you fuck whores. And you would know better than anyone that there’ve been no interruptions in the last few weeks.”

Valentino hummed. Vox sure as hell hadn’t ‘had better things to do than watch Val fuck whores’ up until that night a month ago. It was true, though, that he hadn’t interrupted since then, either.

“Ah, sí,” Valentino sighed with a thoughtful grin. “I noticed. I've been catching up on lost time, too.” Hell, he must’ve fucked his way through half the district by now. “So, what? You really saying it’s unrelated? You decided to blow me off for a month because you wanted to work twenty-four-seven instead? If it was just crunch time, you would’ve said so.”

Vox shifted his hands, fingers steepled now, clawtips tapping. “No,” he said. “I needed some...distance. To get some perspective.”

“Oh, yeah?” If he could’ve, Val would’ve rolled his eyes. “On what?”

“You.” Tap tap tap tap. Valentino’s gaze turned to the cyan-blue claws, clicking smartly against each other. Tap tap tap tap. “Me. And the nature of our personal relationship.”

“How iiiiinteresting,” said Valentino, meaning the opposite. He wasn’t one for introspection or philosophy or whatever the fuck Vox was talking about, not as sober as he was. The alcohol was starting to hit, but it’d take more than a single bottle of hard shit to get him properly drunk. “And?”

“...I think we should fuck,” said Vox.

Chapter Text

Oh. Huh. Maybe the alcohol was stronger than he thought. Valentino’s antennae twitched forward, and he straightened in his chair. “Ah... I must have misheard. Say again?”

Vox gave him a flat look. “Try not to be too...dramatic, about this? I thought it over. And I decided I might not be...strictly speaking, against sex with you.” He bared his shark teeth in a sneer. “Provided you understand that, if you try anything stupid, I will not hesitate to shock you until you’re incapable of moving.”

“Haha, what?” The threat went cleanly in one ear and out the other. Valentino was busy trying to process. “Amorcito, you...”

He felt abuzz, suddenly, with energy. He’d expected to come here for Vox to threaten him, throw a fit, and add ‘no fucking between business partners’ to their contract. He’d made his plans around walking the media demon back on that.

This was - the opposite? It was the opposite. Vox had just said he wanted to fuck.

“...Wait.” Valentino couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin that spread across his face. “Dios mio,” he said. “Puta de mierda. You’re saying I’m right.”

Sparks flashed between Vox’s antennae. “What I’m saying is-”

“You’re saying I was fucking right!” Valentino sang. Oh, this felt good! He gestured wildly, slinging tequila across Vox’s pristine table. “Finally! Admit it, papi: you want me! You started all this because you’re so thirsty you can’t even watch me on a monitor without–”

“...Val.” Vox thrummed with a distinct electrical sound like an overcharged transformer.

Valentino tilted his head, smiled big and mean, and pointedly finished, “–without getting hard.”

Leaning forward, Vox pressed his palms to the top of his screen, eyes shut. “...What I’m saying is, I’m not against sex.” Vox spoke slowly, bitterly, like he was admitting defeat. “According to my dick, I’m not against sex with you. So I’m willing to try it, without that nasty shit you’ve got in your mouth, and see how it goes.”

What was it Vox had said? ‘We both know you’re not my type.’ ‘I’m not interested.’ ‘I’ll fucking electrocute you.’

What. A. Fucking. Brat.

“Wow. How about that!” Valentino said. “You called a business meeting just so we could fuck. Why didn’t you lead with that? We could’ve skipped all the threats and contract talk. Ooh, or is that the foreplay for you?”

“No. That’s not... How is that what you heard?” Vox asked under his breath.

“You said it, not me,” Val said, too delighted by that fact to not point it out. “You brought it up. You’re the one who put it on the agenda.”

Vox shifted his hands to shoot Valentino a glare from beneath them. “I called a meeting so we could amend our contract.” Val continued to grin at him until he added, “Fine, yes. And to bring up possible sex. In the future. Not right now.”

“Mhm.” Valentino took one last swallow of his tequila, licked his lips, and set the bottle down. “But you know, right now is when I’m at my best.” He stood in one sharp, fluid motion and stuck out his upper right hand. “As an amendment to our existing contract: I, Valentino, won’t try to drug you with my pheromone saliva. You, Vox, won’t interrupt my sex life because you’re pissy about it. Deal?”

Looking truly, impressively annoyed, Vox pushed his chair back from the table. He stood, eyeballed Valentino’s hand like he was checking for traps. “Why do I feel like we’ll need to revisit this? But... For now, yes. Fine. Deal.”

Their hands clasped, Vox’s sharp claws cold against his fingers. Threads of wispy cherise and sparking cyan power spilled from their connected palms, bound their hands together, then dissipated with a hiss. Less dramatic than their first deal, but then, this was just an amendment.

“Great!” Valentino said. He looked around, scoping out the place with new intent. “So you got a bed hidden away somewhere, or do you wanna fuck on the couch?”

“What did I expect?” Vox muttered. He dropped Valentino’s hand. “Look, Val–”

“Oh, I’m lookin’,” Val promised. His mood had perked up remarkably, although whether or not that lasted depended on how stubborn Voxy was about to be.

“Val,” Vox said, sharper. Valentino felt his temper already flaring again, but what Vox said wasn’t the rejection he’d expected. “I don’t know how you think this is going to go, but it’s not gonna be like last time.”

Valentino chuckled. Far from being put off by the...warning?...he felt a flare of anticipation. “Baby, if you wanna switch things up already, you know I’m game. What’re you thinking?” he asked, voice dipping low. “Want me to make good on all those things I said over the phone? How about I–”

“No,” Vox cut in. He stepped forward, reached out with one claw, and caught Valentino by the ruff at his throat. He hauled him down to eye level, grip tight. “Forget all that shit,” he ordered. “We can fuck - but I’ll warn you now, I’m gonna knock all those misconceptions you’ve got about me right out of your thick skull. You’ll see how it goes when you haven’t drugged my ass to incoherency. And if we still like it, we can discuss repeat performances.”

Vox released him and brushed past, headed over to the bar.

Valentino absently smoothed down his fur as he straightened, gaze hooded as he turned to watch the media demon pick through his whiskeys. “Promises, promises,” he said.

Oh boy.

Now he got it.

This was an ego thing. That made sense - a lot more sense than Vox undoing, like, a hundred years’ worth of denial in twenty-something days. Vox thought he was going to reinstate his manhood by being a big, powerful, dominant man in bed.

Which was funny - because if there was one thing whores liked to do, it was bitch about their johns. Especially if Valentino asked. And double-especially if he ordered them to, and to be honest about it.

Based on word of mouth, Vox treated sex the same way he did everything in his life: like it was a performance. He acted how he thought rich corporate CEOs should act with hired whores. He was superficially charming. He liked to call all the shots. He had a nice cock. It was a shame, one of his girls had lamented, that he was such a selfish bastard.

Valentino ran his tongue over his teeth. He didn’t know about that; he’d gotten plenty of reciprocation from Vox. Or his mouth, at least. Of course, unlike his girls, Valentino was capable of making sure he got his, one way or another. And, well, he liked a challenge.

It had been extremely hot breaking down Vox’s made-for-television persona into something needy and whining. He was pretty fucking sure Vox had liked it, too - so all that was left was making Vox admit it.

Vox had already concluded that Valentino had something he wanted, which was a good start.

Moving over to Vox’s lavish, unused couch, Valentino drew his wings back, sat himself right in the middle and made himself comfortable. When Vox turned his way, a rounded bottle of whiskey in-hand, he froze.

“Well?” Valentino purred. “Come on, baby. Come show me how it’s done, hm?”

Electricity crawled up the media demon’s arms and flickered out at the tips of his antennae. He seemed, for a moment, at a loss - the same way he had when Valentino first grabbed him that night in the club.

Vox uncapped the bottle and took a few hefty swallows. Valentino watched his mouth, pursed around the bottle’s throat. How did it work? He’d kissed that mouth, had his dick in there, and he still didn’t get it. Ah well. Just some Hell nonsense, probably, like his wings.

The media demon recapped the whiskey as he made his way to Valentino. He set the bottle down on the coffee table, stood before Valentino, and gave him a thorough once-over.

“If you were hoping for latex or fishnets, you gotta give a man more warning,” Val said, grinning at the appraisal. “Daddy was working tonight.”

“I know that,” Vox snapped, followed by, “Don’t call yourself that.”

“It’s rude to kink shame, baby,” Valentino said.

“And don’t call me that, either.”

Val tilted his head. “...You’re no fun at all.”

Vox stood before him with an unreadable expression. “Only because your definition of fun is fucked,” he said. “...Speaking of. What’s your angle? What are you getting out of this?”

Valentino caught the undercurrent of suspicion in Vox’s voice and sat up, reaching for the other sinner’s hands. “My definition of fun is fucking, actually.” He grinned, expression going sly as he took Vox’s hands in his own. “Which is exactly what I’m getting. Well, hopefully. Unless you’re going to keep being a tease.”

He tugged, but Vox didn’t budge. A flicker of static pricked his fingertips. “So this is just another opportunity for sex,” Vox said, tone carefully neutral. Hunting for a simple answer, something he could plug into an algorithm, manipulate and control.

“Of course it is. What’s the matter? Are you worried this is some sort of power play?” If he was just going to keep standing there... Valentino settled his lower set of hands on Vox’s hips. The smaller demon jumped, slightly, at the touch. “Remember, you’re the one who started this. I’m just enjoying the ride.”

Vox’s screen flickered. “Y-yeah, well,” he said - his voice pitched up slightly as Valentino swept his hands down his legs and back up again, fingers neatly encircling each thigh as he traced the inseam of Vox’s slacks. The television was so fucking slight - Val wanted to fucking manhandle him. “You remember what I said that night, right?”

“What night?” Valentino said, licking his lips. “The one you told me to forget?”

Vox’s expression dipped down into something moody, and he pulled his hands from Valentino’s to stop the lower set from feeling him up. So Val shifted his focus to his upper hands, sweeping them up Vox’s chest, unbuttoning his vest, and skimming his thumbs over the TV head’s nipples through his shirt. “Cause you said a lot that night, amorcito. ...Not that I remember.~”

“Tch. Fuck you,” Vox said.

“Mm, yeah, you definitely said that–” Valentino pinched lightly, and a small shock zipped through him in response.

“You’re not fucking me,” Vox snapped. His hands jumped back up to Valentino’s upper set, dragging them away from his chest - which was what Val had been waiting for. “So don’t e–eve–nn ...Fuck...” This time, Valentino’s lower hands went straight to the media demon’s fly, one hauling him closer by the waistband, the other pressing over the bulge that was forming there. “Are you listening?”

Valentino licked his lips, then looked up. “Aw, papi,” he said. “Who hurt you?”

Vox’s eye sparked, even as his hips pushed into Valentino’s palm. “...what?”

“You know - to make you so scared of dick.”

The expression broadcast on Vox’s face flickered from embarrassment to sharp anger. “Excuse me?! I'm not scared. I'm just not interested in having a dick up my ass.”

“Hmm.” Valentino pretended to consider the idea. “Why not?”

“Be– hhh – Because... ah... Can we not have this talk while you’re feelin’ me up?”

Val’s hands very politely stopped their caressing.

Vox sucked in a breath. “Because I’m not a fucking bottom.”

“How do you know that?” Valentino asked, eyebrows raised, because saying, ‘Yeah, sure, and I’m a virgin.’ seemed like a good way to get himself tossed out a window.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vox growled. He hauled Valentino close by the grip on his hands, so Val got a good look at the hypnotic pattern in his eye - and the faint blue blush across his screen. “How do you know you’re not into getting electrocuted?” Electricity arced between his antennae, pointedly.

“I don’t. Wanna try it sometime, papi?~” he purred.

“If you don’t stop pissing me off, we could try it right now,” Vox purred back with a dark grin.

“Oooh, sexy. Don’t tempt me,” Valentino said. He huffed a laugh. “Look, I’m just asking, babe. What makes someone a bottom to you?”

Vox blinked. His grin fell away, and his vibrant red stare narrowed in consideration, wary of walking into a trap. Fair enough: it was a trap.

Because Valentino knew what Vox was thinking. He’d heard this shit before: bottoms were the bitches, bottoms were the women. Bottoms were the whores, sensual and seductive, eager for a real man to dominate them. Fucking a man wasn’t so different from fucking a woman. It was still powerful, masculine. Being fucked, less so. And enjoying it? Wanting it? That was for fruits, fairies, poofs - fags.

At least Vox was smart enough that he hadn’t said any of that out loud. Considering how very recently Valentino had let the TV-headed demon fuck him, he’d have no choice but to shoot him if he had.

“Fuck’s sake...I don’t know, Val,” Vox said, instead. “I know I’m not interested.”

“What about that night at the club?” Valentino pushed. Vox released his hands, and Val took the opportunity to rest them on his shoulders.

“I told you not to–”

“Did you feel like a top, when I rode your cock?”

Vox’s voice stalled out, glitching on a mangled vowel. He twitched under Valentino’s hands, live with static that raised every hair on Val’s body.

“Even though you were clinging to me like a bitch?”

“̷V̷̷a̷̷l̷–”

Valentino pet over tense shoulders, soothing. “Or did you feel like a bottom, when you made me come in your mouth?”

The static concentrated and bit into Valentino’s hands, sharp as a whip. He pulled back with a hiss. But he’d felt the way Vox shuddered at the question. Heard his breath hitch.

“̷S̷̷S̷-̷S̷hut the fuck up,” Vox said. “I was drugged. That’s not what I’m like. If you can’t drop it, then you can leave.”

Valentino twiddled his fingers, working the pins and needles out of them. “Fine, fine.” He tutted, and peered at Vox over the top of his sunglasses. “Whatever you like, then.”

He snagged Vox and hauled him onto the couch.

“What–” Vox’s hands shot out. He caught himself on the back cushions, and Valentino could hear his fans kick on as he hovered awkwardly over Val’s lap. “Val, what the fuck are you–?”

“I want to touch you, babe,” Valentino said. “Or is that off the table too?” He curled two hands around Vox’s legs to keep him close, and dragged them up.

“...No.” Vox’s gaze swept down Valentino’s broad chest, where a nipple chain glinted in the open V of his shirt. His gaze narrowed. “No, that’s fine.”

“Good.~” Valentino let himself explore, then. Four hands stroked over the other sinner’s hips, his sides, his chest. “So...What do you usually do with the lucky boys who get you in bed?” he asked. Like he didn’t know.

Vox’s mouth opened, but he took a second to respond - Val could see the sharp tips of his teeth, peeking out from what would be lips on anyone else.

“...I fuck them,” he said, at length. He sounded annoyed, and Valentino couldn’t tell if it was aimed at the question or his own answer.

“Wow,” Valentino said. “Creative.”

“We can’t all be porn-producing degenerates,” Vox said. “What the hell else would I–” His claws pierced the couch cushions as Valentino’s hands moved from his thighs to his ass, gripping tightly. “–Shit. Val–”

“Oh relax,” Valentino said, voice low. He draped his upper arms over Vox’s shoulders. “You have a nice ass, Vox. Very pert. Let me enjoy it a little.”

Vox scoffed. “Fuck off,” he said, like Valentino couldn’t smell the way his arousal flared, copper-bright, or see the way his expression flickered.

“It’s true,~” Val insisted. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s ever said so.”

With a short, humorless laugh, Vox extracted a hand from the couch’s stuffing. His claws curled around Valentino’s neck. “The people I fuck usually know better than to grope my ass,” he said, leaning forward to pin Val to the couch.

“Really? Their loss.” Valentino flexed his fingers, grinning. Vox’s screen glitched, and then he did the same, briefly squeezing tight enough that his claws pricked the sides of Val’s neck.

Bracing himself with his grip on Valentino’s throat, Vox ran his other hand down Val’s front, from neck to chest. His claws briefly traced the chain there, tugged just enough to make Valentino suck in a sharp breath, then moved on to his navel – and then to his waistband. He tugged at Valentino’s belt, made of gaudy gold hearts. “How the fuck do you get this thing off?”

“Oh,” said Valentino, to be difficult. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, Val,” the media demon bit out. He abandoned the belt, pressing his palm over the outline of Valentino’s erection in his dark slacks. “That’s why I asked. Or do you wanna frot on the couch until we come in our pants like a couple of fucking virgins?”

Valentino’s grin widened. “Babe,” he purred, “I’d love to make you come in your pants.”

Static sparked across Vox’s body; his screen burned cyan, and his brow furrowed over an averted gaze. “Seriously. Val.”

“I’m dead serious,” Valentino pushed into the grip on his neck until his head swam, stroking fingers across Vox’s chest. “Want me to show you?”

“I... I...” Vox stuttered, conflict flickering across his face before it settled on a stubborn frown. “No. That’s not what I want.”

Valentino rolled his hips up into Vox’s hand and chuckled. “Well, eventually you’ll have to decide what you do want, amorcito.”

“I wanted to get your belt off, for starters.”

“Por supuesto,” Valentino said. “Mocoso.” He dropped a hand to the small of his back and opened the clasp holding his belt in place.

“You know I can run that through a translator later,” Vox said, eyes narrowed, tone waspish.

Val chuckled. He pulled off his belt, letting it dangle from one finger before dropping it to the floor. “Oh, sí. Let me know what you find.”

His partner tsked, but turned his focus to Valentino’s pants, thumbing the fly open and drawing down the zipper in one quick movement. Without further fanfare, Vox reached in. Val considered teasing - fifty-or-so years topside, another fifty in hell, and Vox still hadn’t learned foreplay.

On the other hand, it meant that Vox’s hand was in his pants, sharp-tipped fingers around his dick, in record time. So maybe not such a bad thing.

Vox’s grip was nice and tight, and Valentino grabbed his wrist to push into the pressure with a low, pleased moan. “Ah,” he said. “That’s good. Take it out, babe. I wanna see my cock in your hand.”

Immediately, Vox tried to pull back. Val held tight, keeping his hand in place, and another sweep of static buzzed between them. Vox’s expression went flustered, then frustrated. “Do you ever shut up?” Vox asked.

“Not if I can help it.” Valentino grinned. “Besides, you like it.~”

“Fuck you,” Vox snapped.

“Not unless you got the lube this time,” Val said.

“I don’t,” Vox said. “...Kinda weird that you don’t,” he added as he pulled Val’s dick from his pants.

Valentino laughed lightly. “I never said I didn’t have any,” he pointed out. “Just that you’d have to use your own if you wanna fuck me tonight.”

Seeing those long, blue-tipped claws on his cock fulfilled a fantasy Valentino hadn’t known he had. He’d filed Vox away as off-limits for so goddamn long he’d turned off the part of him that indulged in fantasies. Too easy to want to act on them. Now, there was so much he wanted to do, he didn’t know where to start. Especially since Vox seemed keen on being difficult every step of the way.

Vox, who was...quiet. With a surge of delight, Valentino realized the media demon was staring at his pornstar erection - heavy and veined, damp at the head. Vox’s antennae sparked, and so did the scent of his arousal. Was he remembering how it felt in his mouth? Remembering how he’d whined and sucked while Val came across his tongue?

Shit, Val wanted.

“Like what you see?” Valentino’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “You wouldn’t believe what I can do with it.”

Vox jumped, and his gaze darted up to Valentino’s. “Is that supposed to impress me?” he asked, prickly with embarrassment. “It’s a dick, Val, not a Swiss army knife. There’s only so much you can do with it.”

“Oh, believe me, baby, you’d be surprised. I got techniques you couldn’t even imagine.”

Vox barked a laugh. “Oh please. Save it for your whores.” It was almost convincing, except Val could see the electric-blue tint on his screen and the prominent hard-on pressed to the front of his slacks. Fucking christ, how Val wanted.

He shifted his hips and pushed until Vox got the message, giving his cock a couple of careful strokes. It was dry, rough - and Vox’s grip was tight, like he had something to prove; Val wanted more, anyway. With his hand over Vox’s, he guided him into a rhythm, nice and slow. His eyes roved over Vox’s slight form, and he gave his ass another squeeze, just to see him suck in a breath.

His other hand came off Vox’s shoulder to get his pants open, too. Unlike Vox, Valentino had no issues getting Vox’s belt open, his button free, and his fly down. Vox gritted his teeth against a sound, low in his throat.

“If you got any ideas,” Valentino drawled, fingertips grazing the waistband of his underwear, “now’s the time to put them out there.” He felt like a goddamn saint, waiting for Vox to get the ball rolling.

Vox’s pupils flicked up to Valentino’s mouth. His tongue swept over his teeth, clearly without thinking. Valentino growled, his cock twitching in their hands. Vox might have ordered him to forget it, but Valentino very much remembered the feeling of that tongue on him. Vox’s grip went tight in response, squeezing down on Val’s throat and dick.

“Well,” Vox said with a huff. “There is one thing.”

“Only one?” With some effort, Valentino dragged his gaze from Vox’s mouth to his eyes.

“To start.” The grip on Valentino’s throat loosened. A thumb pressed to Val’s lip, instead, and Vox quirked a brow. For a moment, Valentino saw a flash of the demon’s usual grin - broad, self-assured, and vicious. “Since you seem so keen on using your mouth tonight.”

“Ooooh.” Valentino smiled too, razor-sharp. He retracted his hands - the ones not still feeling up Vox’s ass - and pet them down Vox’s sides. “You want my mouth on you, Voxy?” he asked.

Vox’s shark smile thinned. “Don’t you dare start that up again.”

“Sorry, amorcito.~” Valentino opened his mouth and curled his tongue around Vox’s thumb - then further, winding it around his hand and down to his wrist. Red-tinged saliva slipped down Vox’s arm and stained the media demon’s shirtsleeve.

“...jesus,” Vox said, staring openly again. Like he had somehow forgotten all the advertisements and promotionals of Valentino with his tongue out, dripping red for the camera. Or all the times Vox had to have seen Val putting it to use while watching him on camera.

Valentino chuckled, deep and amused. He retracted his tongue and pulled Vox closer, then twisted, using his grip on Vox’s ass to lift him and, in a single motion, drop him onto the couch on his back. Vox’s hand released his cock, and both hands shot to Val’s shoulders in surprise.

Screen lost to snow and blaring static for a moment before resettling on his face, Vox immediately moved to sit up. Valentino kept him down with a hand on his chest.

“What,” Vox gasped. “What the fuck are you doing now?”

“Trust me, baby. I’m about to ruin you for blowjobs from anyone else for the rest of your afterlife.” Valentino loomed over the media demon for a moment, then slipped down Vox’s body, slotting himself neatly between dark, slender thighs. His fingers trailed over Vox’s hips and dipped back into his waistband.

Vox shoved Valentino’s hand off his chest and pushed himself upright, smelling like a thunderstorm and looking suspicious. “What moron would trust you?” he huffed. “I’m nnnoo-t-t-̷t̷̷t̷-̷t̷̷t̷–”

Whatever Vox had been about to say (nothing important, Valentino was sure of it) stuttered into garbled nothing as Val dragged his pants down and swept his tongue up the inside of one thigh. He licked and kissed a path up to the crease of Vox’s leg, leaving behind a line of cerise-tinged spit. He glanced up the length of Vox’s body, and when their eyes met, the TV’s cat-like red stare narrowed, watching him with new intensity.

“Hmm. What are you thinking about, Vox?” Valentino asked like he didn’t know.

Vox’s grin was cruel. “That you can’t even shut up long enough to get my dick in your mouth.”

Liar.

“It’s called anticipation, baby.” Valentino cinched his lower hands tight around Vox’s legs to keep him in place, and wrapped another around the media demon’s cock, already beading precum at the tip.

“That’s,” Vox panted. “That’s not your–”

Valentino’s fourth hand pushed him flat again, holding Vox pinned while he worked his dick.

“Ah, shit. Val, you fucking–” Vox twisted, and his claws came up to grip the hand on his chest. “This isn’t anticipation, it's called a goddamn handj–ah–” Val’s tongue pressed to the head of his cock, and Vox’s body arched.

Valentino knew what Vox was thinking of. He knew why Vox wanted a fucking blowjob. A month later, and clearly what Val had told him that night was still fresh in the media demon’s perverted little head. Vox could insist it didn’t matter all he wanted - but if he was going to ask for a blowjob, Val was more than happy to illustrate in person what he’d described for Vox over the phone.

“Which one of us is the porn producer, hm?” Val murmured against the side of Vox’s shaft. “And which one of us doesn’t know how to get a belt off?”

“Less talking,” Vox demanded. A claw reached down, groping until it caught a fistful of Val’s ruff. “More sucking.”

Valentino laughed. “Of course, papi.” He still missed the desperate, whiny Vox who'd been high on his venom - but this pissy, pushy Vox wasn't so bad, either.

He leaned over and licked a line up Vox's cock, tongue coiling tight around the head. Then he took it in his mouth, swallowing to the root in a single, easy movement. His tongue undulated along the length of Vox’s dick, squeezing and releasing in a steady rhythm. After a moment, he hollowed his cheeks and gave a hard suck. Vox's legs twitched under his hand, and he exhaled a quick, stuttering breath. “Ah,” Vox breathed. “That’s...gh...good.”

With a deep purr, Val pulled away, leaving a smear of red saliva on the dark-and-blue of Vox’s dick. “Ooh? From you, that must be high praise.” He moved his mouth over to the inside of Vox’s thigh, looked up - Vox was still staring - and pressed a long, sucking kiss into the media demon’s skin.

Vox startled under his hands. His claws tightened in Valentino’s fur, and he choked out a moan.

Desire curled hard in Valentino’s gut. Antennae flicked, and Val gripped Vox’s thighs harder. He licked at the mark he’d made, then moved on, sucking bruise after bruise into the sensitive skin where leg met groin, spurred on by every new twitch or gasp. One hand worked Vox’s dick, until the demon’s hips were rocking up into every stroke.

“That’s,” Vox panted, “that's your fucking – fucking –ah– hand again!”

Valentino grazed his teeth over a fresh mark. “Mm, it is,” he said, “isn't it? But, you know, you said more sucking. You didn't say where. But if you don’t want my hand there...”

He hauled Vox closer, let go of Vox’s cock, and reached up to where Vox’s claw remained anchored in his fur. “How about this?” He wrapped long, black fingers around the other demon’s wrist and clamped down.

Static snapped between them as Vox sucked in a sudden, ragged breath. “Don’t,” he gasped, even as his hold on Val’s ruff loosened. Even as his screen flickered with conflicting frequencies. Even as his arousal burned feverishly in the air. Val fancied he could hear a desperate plea in the whine of Vox’s feedback. “Val–”

The memory of that night sat between them. Valentino knew Vox had liked being held down. He hadn’t seen the bruises he’d made, but he knew he’d left them. He wondered if Vox had liked those, too.

His patience, already stretched gossamer-thin, snapped. “I told you before, amorcito,” Valentino murmured. He pressed Vox’s wrist into the cushions at his side, and Vox's hips jerked up. “I want you to hear you beg.”

“Don't–” Vox repeated, this time with more anger. “Don't you dare - I fucking told you–!”

“You want me, Vox.” Val dragged a hand up Vox's thigh. He took Vox’s dick in a light grip. Stroked it. “You watched me fucking whores on your cameras for weeks. You holed yourself up trying to deny it for weeks. And you still want me - you want what I can give you. So why won’t you let me?”

Vox barked a humorless laugh, expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace. “Hah, what? You don't know what the fuck I want!”

“Why?” Val sneered. He swept his thumb along the blue vein running along the underside of the other demon’s cock. “Because you don't?”

“Ah, goddamnit, stop–” Vox twisted in Val’s hold, fans whirring, a dangerous electrical current rapidly building beneath his skin. “Enough. I knew this was a shit idea.” Vox reached down and tried to shove Valentino’s hand away from his erection.

But he hadn't zapped him. He was bitching, whining - throwing a fit, like a brat - but he wasn't making Val stop, forcing him to back off.

Vox was every bit the predator Valentino was - Val had seen what he could do first-hand. But he was struggling like some sort of prey animal, instead. And it made Valentino want to bite down until he submitted.

He abandoned Vox's dick to catch his other arm and force it down as well. And just like that, Vox was laid out beneath him. Flat on his back. Pinned. Glaring and shouting, but still hard as a rock between them.

“I know what you want, baby,” Valentino said. “And I'll even give it to you. But not until you admit it. Not until you beg for it.”

Vox stared at him. Val could feel his racing heartbeat in the wrists beneath his fingers, could smell the eerie thunder-and-petrichor of his arousal, could see the need written across his dumb digital face.

And he could see the moment it twisted, pinched into that expression - sharp, frustrated. Stubborn.

A short, building hum. He had a moment to register that he’d pushed too far. Then electricity surged through Valentino from every point of contact between himself and Vox.

Chapter Text

It only lasted a moment - gone almost as soon as it registered - but in that moment, Vox shoved Valentino hard enough to topple him straight off the couch. He hit the floor with a yelp, his body suddenly aching. His limbs all twitched and trembled like he'd just finished a three-day fuck-a-thon, and his temper flared.

“What the fuck, Vox!” Valentino sat up with a snarl, groping around for his sunglasses. This office was so fucking bright, he couldn’t fucking see–

Vox was standing over him by the time he found them and put them back on his face. The TV-head asshole had his shirt haphazardly jammed into his waistband, dick tucked away. Circles pulsed from his sparking pupil. Bolts of crackling electric-blue hopped and skipped across his skin, and his face was stoic.

It was that last one that worried him. Vox postured a lot, but very rarely did he manage anything resembling a poker face.

Oh shit, Val thought. Don’t you dare kill me on the floor with my dick out you puta.

Though, if he was going to die, it was probably one of the most on-brand ways he could go. ‘Tried to fuck a TV. RIP.’

“Let me try, one more time, to get this through your head,” Vox said, bringing Valentino back from the weird place his mind had gone.

The demon’s audio pitched and fluctuated wildly, belying the carefully calm tone of his voice. His hypnotic stare never left Val as he stepped closer, the clack of his dress shoes sharp against the granite. He loomed over Valentino, leaned in, and seized his ruff in one hand, yanking hard enough that it hurt. “I'm not one of your whores. I'm not some loser you can step on. I'm not gonna be your bitch, and if you think that's what's going to happen here, you're dumber than I thought.

“You pull this kind of stunt again, and one of your sluts will be scraping your charcoaled corpse off the floor. Comprende?” The threat of another electric shock burned between them - literally. Val could smell his fur singing beneath Vox’s claws.

Valentino hadn’t been Vox’s business partner for decades without learning to recognize a meltdown when he saw one. Hell, pretty much every time the radio demon or his name got mentioned, he had to deal with this shit. Val refused to let Vox make him a scapegoat for his displaced self-loathing, so Val packed in his own (extremely justified, he thought) anger in favor of self-preservation.

“Easy, corazón,” he said, all four hands raised in surrender. “You misunderstood. I would never confuse you with a whore. ¿Parezco un idiota?”

Do I look like an idiot?

Well, maybe he did. He was sitting on the cold floor with his cock out, talking down an angry TV screen.

“I know who you are, Vox,” Valentino reminded him. “I’ve seen what you can do.”

“And yet here you are,” Vox said, voice tinny as he struggled to maintain a veneer of control. “Making some - some power play in the middle of my office.”

“Power play? Me?!” Valentino pressed two hands to his chest. The other two gestured at Vox. “What about you?! You ghost me for a month. Arrange for your secretaries to handle our business. You call me here on your terms, to have sex on your terms. You attack me because you get angry in the middle of the sex you suggested. Then you threaten to betray our partnership - to kill me - if I don’t, what, fuck exactly how you want?”

Actually, that sounded way hotter than what Vox was doing. Vox was threatening to kill Val if he did fuck how he wanted. “If anything,” Valentino continued, “aren’t you the one making a power play? I think I’ve been more than accommodating.”

Vox rippled with electricity. “It’s not my fault you won’t listen.” His mismatched eyes narrowed. “If you can’t respect me, then-”

“I respect you,” Valentino cut in. He laid a hand over Vox’s. The current thrumming through Vox immediately pricked at his fingers, but he held on - keeping his grip light. “I’m not so sure you respect me, though, amorcito.”

“What?” Vox’s gaze darted down to Val’s hand, then back to his face. “No. You’re the one who-”

“I’m the one who can smell every time something turns you on,” Valentino said. “And every time I do what turns you on, you get angry. To say I’m getting mixed signals is putting it lightly.”

“I-it–” The stoic bravado dropped from Vox’s face, leaving him looking tense and uneasy. “No, I– what I want is–”

The moment that frustrated frown cropped up, Valentino tugged on Vox’s arm, pulling him off-center so he had to lean in over Val. “What are you thinking, amorcito? Right now? Every time you make that face, you throw an absolute fit.”

Surprised flashed over Vox’s face. Then he bared his shark teeth in a scowl - probably at the idea of being read so easily. “I’m thinking that I’ve had sex all my life, and never once wanted any of the shit you keep trying to do. Why would I start now?”

Bullshit, Valentino thought. “Why wouldn’t you?” he asked, instead. “Nothin’ stays the same forever. Isn’t that what you’re always saying? ‘Change is the future’?”

Vox let go of him. He straightened, conflict writ across his flickering screen. “Yeah, for business. For tech. Not for...” His free hand balled into a fist, clenched tight at his side. Not for sex, he might say, but that’d be an obvious lie. Valentino knew from more than one night of drunken rambling that Vox hadn’t tried fucking men before Hell.

“Not for this,” Vox muttered. And then, like he was reminding himself, “I’m an Overlord. Control is my thing, Val. I control the power grid. I control the media. Heck, I can control people’s fucking minds. And you’re saying that I want...”

His gaze cut away, then back, eyes narrow. “What are you saying I want?”

Valentino’s antennae flicked. He sighed and squinted up at Vox. “If I stand up, are you going to fuck up my shit again?”

Vox glared. “Not unless you give me a reason.”

So, probably. With a tut, Val got to his feet anyway. He’d never let go of Vox’s hand, and the other demon only seemed to realize that now, as their proximity highlighted Valentino's height over him. And Val’s still-hard cock (ever an optimist, his cock). Vox’s screen burned cyan with sudden embarrassment, although he pointedly ignored it. Valentino obligingly tucked his erection in his waistband for safekeeping.

“So, first of all,” Valentino said, “I don’t see what you being a powerful, controlling, Overlord badass has to do with having hot sex.” He lifted his hand from Vox’s, and Vox pulled his arm back slowly, suspiciously. “Everyone in Hell knows I’m up for anything as long as it sounds like a good time. And how many people try to test me?”

At that, Vox’s expression went deadpan. “You’re involved in shootouts at least once a month.”

“But I’m still alive, and all the other sorry fucks are dead.” Val dared a razor-sharp grin. “See? The only people who think they can get to me are too stupid to live!” When Vox didn’t seem especially moved by this, Valentino continued. “Besides, we both know I start some of,” - most of - “those shootouts. Trade deals get so boring.”

“You’re not–” “But that’s beside the point, no? What works for me doesn’t have to work for you. My point is just this: anyone who cares enough - and is dumb enough - to wanna annoy you about your kinks? They can just fucking die,” Valentino said, eyes bright and enthusiastic. “We’ll kill ‘em, double-dead. I could always use more target practice anyway!”

“...You’re so shortsighted,” Vox griped. Before Valentino could take that as a personal slight about his aim, though, Vox continued. “It’d be better to get their souls. Dead hellborn make a mess, dead sinners make shitty architecture, contracts make us stronger. We’ve gone over this before, Val.”

Valentino’s grin only widened. “Fine, sure. Contract ‘em, kill ‘em, whatever you’d like, babe.”

Vox blinked, and his antennae sparked as he seemed to realize what he’d said. “That– I wasn’t – I’m not agreeing with you.” His claws twitched. He quickly folded them behind his back, a habit Valentino knew he’d picked up from Alastor - the cannibal deer stood just like that. Christ, the radio demon had dug his claws in deep. “I was just making sure you don’t waste a bunch of expensive bullets in the future.”

“Vox-”

“ ...God knows I already deal with Carmine and her sanctimonious bitching often enough.” Vox’s mouth lifted in a sneer at the thought of the senior Overlord.

“Vox.” Once he had the TV’s attention again, Valentino dove in. “Just once. Let me do what I want to you-”

Vox’s throat made a strange, grinding, mechanical sound.

“- or, whatever I think you want. And if you didn’t like it, amorcito, that’s it. We’ll do it your way! We keep it all between us - and, if any bitches find out and want to say something about it,” Valentino really doubted anyone would - homosexuality was about as vanilla as it fucking got, down here, “we take it as an opportunity to remind them we’re going to own their asses, one day. They can get in line or get dead. Sí?”

For a moment, Vox said nothing; Valentino watched his screen flicker, his left pupil spark. He could practically hear the buzz of the demon’s thoughts - or maybe that was just him powering up for another zap.

Vox sighed. “...What is it,” he asked again, pointedly, “that you think I want?”

Mierda. Now Valentino knew how Vox had felt when he’d asked, ‘What makes someone a bottom to you?’ Was there any way to say this that Vox wouldn’t hate to hear, that he wouldn’t immediately reject out of hand?

Valentino clicked his tongue. “I think you’re right, amorcito,” he said. “Your whole thing is control. You want everything to be perfect. But you can’t be sure everything’s perfect unless you’re personally involved in everything. That’s why you got eyes everywhere. Always watching, so you always know just what to do.” He grinned. “You got the ‘sexy workaholic businessman' vibe down better than anyone I’ve ever met, papi.”

“...Uh...” Vox seemed a bit flustered at the appraisal. “Thanks, I guess?” There was a wary tone to his voice, like he was waiting for an insult.

Val’s antenna flicked, sensing something worth pursuing there. “It’s just the truth. You’re smart, charismatic, powerful. Sexy.~ You practically already run this joint, don’t you? We all know it ain’t that ex-angel keeping the lights on, or the masses entertained. You control it all, babe. All the time.” Valentino reached out, settled his lower hands on Vox’s waist. “Isn’t it exhausting?”

The other sinner’s claws landed on his forearms like a warning. Like it would distract from the vivid electric-blue blush flaring up on Vox’s screen again. “It’s that way because I like it,” Vox said.

“Sure,” Valentino agreed, voice a reassuring purr. “Of course. I never said you don't. And that’s great. It means I get to take it easy and focus on doing...well, whatever I want. ...But. Isn’t it exhausting?”

He felt the twitch of the clawtips on his arms, the uneasy shift of Vox’s weight. He seemed to be thinking about something. “Well. Maybe sometimes,” he allowed with a sigh.

“Right.” Valentino leaned in, just a little. “So. What I think you want...is a break. Sometimes.”

“I really don’t,” Vox said flatly, like the mere idea was distasteful. “If I took a break, everything we’ve built would go up in flames. I meant sexually, Val, not– I wasn’t asking if you thought I needed a fucking vacation.”

...Was Vox being oblivious on purpose? Was that a joke?? Valentino genuinely couldn’t tell. “I meant a break from being in control, babe,” Val purred. “From being the one who makes all the decisions, all the time. And I definitely meant it sexually. You’re always thinking. Always working. You need a way to let go, amorcito.”

Vox looked - unhappy, uncomfortable - but he didn’t object. He didn’t agree, either, his mouth a grim line near the bottom of his screen.

“Ah,” Valentino said, voice low. “See, and there’s the problem. You can’t let go. You’re so used to holding on. Maybe you need to, want to - but you can’t.”

Vox scoffed, his grip tightening on Val’s forearms. “So, what? You think I want you to help me ‘let go’?” His tone was mocking. Understandable, Valentino wasn’t known for helping anyone but himself, usually to whatever he wanted.

“Oh, no,” said Valentino. He smiled, amused. “I think you want me to make you.”

In the end, Vox had very kindly told him to, “Get the fuck out.” And, “Now.” And also, “Valentino, if you’re here in ten seconds, we’re gonna find out just how into electrocution you are.”

As he was wrapping his arms in gauze later that night (the little bastard had some fucking claws), Valentino put it down as a win. He’d planted all the right seeds in Vox’s stubborn flatscreen head, made what he thought was an extremely compelling argument, and hadn’t died. If that first sexual encounter - and the following month of no-contact - hadn’t been enough for Vox to work out an alternative solution to his problem, then Valentino doubted he’d be able to find one now.

He hadn’t gotten laid, though - and he’d forgotten his belt on Vox’s stupid penthouse floor... so maybe it was closer to a tie.

Or, so he thought. Two nights later, his phone blipped a text notification at him the second he was alone in his office. Valentino's antennae twitched as he checked the message. He read it twice, just to be sure he wasn't imagining things, and then his fangs bared in an outright predatory grin, aimed at the surveillance camera tucked in the room’s far corner.

Oh, never mind. It was absolutely a win.

>>Fuck it. Make me.

Chapter Text

It took two more weeks for Vox to actually agree to a time and place. The media demon’s list of no-gos for locations might as well have encompassed the entirety of Hell, and the way he acted, you’d think he was booked from 12:01 AM till 11:59 PM every damn day.

The reality, Valentino decided, was that Vox needed to work himself up to it. Val didn’t necessarily mind. That text had been a promise, as far as he was concerned, and unlike Voxy, he enjoyed a little bit of anticipation - especially if the gratification was guaranteed.

And why wouldn’t it be? Vox clearly needed something only Valentino would provide - and as long as Vox believed that, all he had to do was sit back and wait.

Just because he preferred to take what he wanted, by force if necessary, didn’t mean Valentino had no patience. There was a thrill in waiting - in playing the long game - in luring prey close with soft, dulcet whispers that promised everything they might ever want or need. He enjoyed the contracts he got through force. It felt good, to see how all the things he’d been warned about, back when he was still alive - all of it was bullshit. Crime paid, the strong ate the weak, and altruism was worthless.

But the deals he worked for were all the more gratifying for the effort put into them.

He wasn’t playing for Vox’s soul, sure, but it was the same game.

And when his patience finally paid off - in, say, ten minutes or so, unless Vox canceled last-minute again - Valentino was going to savor it. He’d implied to Vox that he didn’t have skin in this game, that he was just here to enjoy some sex.

That was a lie.

Because Valentino knew something Vox didn’t: of the two of them, he wasn’t the one who was likely to end up compromised by adding sex to their partnership. He wasn’t the one that would end up with emotions about the whole thing.

Vox should know. The last time he’d so desperately wanted something and hadn’t gotten it, Vox had developed an entire complex around it. Or him, rather. Vox’s sloppy emotional hang-ups were why he’d let the radio demon yank him around like a sad little perrito for so, so long.

He knew the way Vox looked at the radio demon. Angry, sure. Betrayed, absolutely. But also miserable. Obsessive. Scorned. But Vox seemed determined to pretend that relationship hadn’t existed in the first place.

And there were no lessons to be learned from something that’d never happened.

Valentino didn’t mind, though; the radio demon’s loss was his gain. If Vox wanted to set himself up to make the same mistakes, Val would gladly replace Alastor as the media demon’s new object of obsession. Unlike that prim, prude little deer, he’d take everything Vox had to give - attention, money, fame, power - and, yes, sex. If he was lucky.

All he had to do in return was literally whatever he wanted.

Sometimes, he thought, Hell was the fucking best.

The location they’d settled on was as close to neutral territory as either of them could tolerate: one of their Extermination safehouses on the outer edge of the district. An underground bunker spanned the property, primarily used for stashing inventory, extra resources, and new acquisitions from territorial disputes.

The uppermost level, however, had been remodeled into a cozy apartment, consisting of an open kitchen, dinette, and connected lounge, with several private rooms attached. The rooms were fitted with basic accouterments, but nothing impressive or personal. Little survivalist hotel suites.

Valentino had been lounging in one such suite for the past half hour or so - nursing a cocktail he'd mixed for himself and filling the room with a heady red haze of smoke. Aside from a dimmed bedside lamp, the room stood dark. He saw far better in dim lighting, anyway.

He wasn't one to fidget, typically. Yet he found his antennae twitching at every shift in the air, his wings - draped lightly over his shoulders like a red velvet cloak - fluttering occasionally with ramping anticipation.

It was dangerous, what he was doing. Vox was dangerous. And even if Vox had agreed to this whole thing, there was no telling what he might do if pushed in the wrong way.

Which was, of course, part of what made the idea of pushing him so thrilling.

A series of sharp, staccato knocks at the bedroom door plucked him cleanly from his thoughts. He took a drag off a fresh cigarette and stood with a long, languid stretch. He wanted. Wanted, wanted, wanted. And after, fuck, how many years? - he was about to get it.

“Door's open,” Valentino called. He threw back the rest of his drink, licked the traces of alcohol off the rim of the glass, and set it on a side table near the entryway.

Showtime.

The door swung open halfway. A blade of warm light from the hallway cut across the floor, and Valentino’s smoke drifted lazily toward the gap.

Vox leaned in, a single foot over the threshold, and Valentino’s gaze fixated on the glow of his screen. His mouth was already turned down in a frown, one eyebrow quirked.

“Val?” Vox’s warm baritone held a clear note of confusion. “Why’s it so—”

Valentino reached out and caught Vox’s wrist where his clawed hand still had hold of the doorknob. Val hauled him inside.

“Hey, wh-at—” Vox sputtered - and that was before Val got the rest of his hands on him. One on each wrist, one on either side of his hips. He shoved Vox back against the door to force it shut.

“Wh t— What the hell, Val?”

Static pricked Valentino’s hands. Instead of letting go, he held tight, tighter. He leaned in over Vox, caressing his screen with a sinuous stream of smoke. “I’ll give you one chance. If you need a safe word, tell me now,” Val said, voice low. Dark.

The panic that flashed across Vox’s face, juxtaposed with the wave of plasma-tinged arousal his antennae immediately tasted in the air, made him bear down harder.

“Ha, uh,” said Vox. “Hold on–”

“Mm, no. I’m not here to hold on,” Val said. He pressed in closer, boxing Vox in, hungry in a way that he hadn’t been in a long, long time. “I’m here to fuck you up, babe.” He took a hand from Vox’s hip and pressed it to his chest, right over the other sinner’s hammering heartbeat. “Now. Safe word?”

Vox’s eyes narrowed, slightly. “I—”

“If you zap me during this, we’re gonna have a problem, mi amor,” Valentino added. He drew his hands up, pulling Vox’s wrists level with his screen. Leaned down close enough to kiss, even though that was already off the table thanks to their new amendment. “So keep that in mind, hm?”

“I d-on’t,” Vox said, static biting at his voice, “I don’t need a fucking safe word.”

Something dangerous must have shown on Val’s face, because Vox’s breathing hitched sharply. “Unless y-ou’re planning on fucking murdering me in the name of kinky sex,” he added in an uneasy undertone. “Which, I want to say, isn’t what I thought you meant when you said I needed to ‘let go’.”

Val’s grin widened, then split in an affectionate, open-mouthed laugh. “No, babe.” He leveled Vox with a half-lidded gaze, drinking in the TV demon’s wary expression. “That isn’t the plan.”

Feeling especially impressed with himself (or maybe he just knew that once he started, he wouldn’t be capable of making the offer again), he said, “Last chance.”

Vox’s gaze dug into him like hooks. His wrists twisted, testing Val’s grip, and Val held them easily, keeping them pinned to the door. “I’m not gonna fry you for doing what I told you,” he bit out. “Now are you gonna do something or are we gonna stand here and chat all ni—”

And that was that.

Val jerked Vox’s arms above his head until his feet barely touched the floor and rolled his hips into Vox’s. He buried his grin in the crook of Vox’s neck.

“That’s what I thought, papacito,” he drawled, unable, unwilling, to keep the predatory growl from his voice now. “If you wanted amateur hour, you wouldn’t have come to me.”

His hand dragged up Vox’s chest, to the tie at his neck. He didn’t take it off, not right away - his claws curled around Vox’s throat, grip snug enough to feel when Vox swallowed against him. It made a nice parallel of that night, weeks ago. When he’d first pinned Vox to a window and kicked off.

Vox seemed to be thinking the same thing, if the way his breath caught and his hips twitched into Valentino’s were any indicators.

“Shit,” Vox hissed. His voice came out level, as if Val wouldn’t be able to recognize the desperation running like a current throughout his body. “Why’s—why is it so damn dark in here?”

Val worked a claw into the knot of Vox’s bowtie, tugged on it. “Now who’s chatting?” he asked. His other hand stole up from Vox’s hip just long enough to pull the bow loose, his cigarette holder balanced neatly between two fingers.

“I’m, I’m j st– just asking—” Vox’s audio cut out as Valentino’s mouth fixed to his neck and sucked.

“Well,” Val said, after he’d sucked a nice, dark mark into Vox’s skin. He laved his tongue over it, eyes narrow with approval. “Stop asking. You don’t need to see anything but me, Voxy.”

Vox’s skin buzzed beneath his tongue, and Val waited - but the current fizzled out before it became a real threat. “...Do you have to call me that?” Vox muttered.

Val moved to the other side of Vox’s neck, removed his hand from Vox’s throat to jerk his collar open, and scraped his teeth down to his shoulder - right where he’d bitten him, last time. “Yeah,” he said, grin pressed to Vox’s dark skin. Vox shuddered in his grip.

“Ah,” Vox rasped. His hips kicked again when Valentino bared his fangs against synthetic muscle. “Don’t—”

Val bit down. Not as hard as he had before, but enough to draw blood - enough to leave marks - and enough for Vox to jerk against him with a short shout of surprise.

“Damnit– Val–”

Valentino’s cock throbbed at the way Vox gasped his name, and he very abruptly needed more.

He shoved between Vox’s legs to press their dicks together and, when the height difference made that impossible, his lower hands dropped to Vox’s ass and lifted him cleanly off the ground. Vox sucked in a surprised sound— moaning it back out once Val got them lined up and pressed in. Val rolled his hips into Vox’s, groaning his own approval at the pressure against his aching dick.

Finally. Finally.

Vox’s wrists pulled in his hold, his expression flustered and annoyed. “That’s your plan?” he huffed. “Rutting against the door?” The bitching rang hollow. This close, Val could see every shiver of static across Vox’s face and how his screen was tinged with a bright cyan blush.

Valentino grinned and languidly ground their clothed erections together. “You need to stop guessing what my plan is, papi,” he said. He caressed Vox’s ass through his taut suit pants. “You don’t need to be thinking at all.”

A bark of a laugh chased Vox’s next groan. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Good fucking luck with that.”

“Don’t need luck, babe. I’m an expert.” Val punctuated the statement with a deep pull of his cigarette; the cherry flared deep red in the dim lighting, pulling Vox’s gaze to it.

His left pupil flickered into a strumming electrical wave. “That shit doesn’t work on me, you know.”

Valentino smiled, expression sly.

“...Just because your saliva did, doesn’t mean that’s changed,” Vox said, annoyance edging into his tone.

“Sure,” Val breathed. Smoke twisted between them, tinged the same cherry-red as the poison flooding between his fangs. “I know that.~”

He pulled Vox’s wrists together above his monitor, and his smoke coiled around them before cinching tight.

“What about this, though?”

Vox stared at him, then glanced up, although his screen meant there was no way for him to crane his head to see the smoke binding his wrists. “Uh.” His mouth opened, baring shark teeth and his bioluminescent-blue tongue for a moment, then snapped shut.

Val sighed into the fresh wave of petrichor and copper that swept over his antennae and rocked his hips against Vox’s. “Relax,” he drawled, watching the conflict on Vox’s face. “I got you.”

“Fuck.” That clearly sparked a memory. Vox’s head thudded back against the door. “Fucking...Jesus, Val– You—”

Valentino tugged them tighter together, then turned them around. He leaned himself against the door and slotted a thigh between Vox’s legs. One hand swept from Vox’s ass to the bend of his knee and hauled it in, hitching Vox up until he was properly straddling the length of bare skin between Valentino’s thigh-high boots and his miniskirt. Another claw slung under Vox’s arm to press between his shoulder blades, holding them chest-to-chest, keeping Vox from tumbling over backward.

He released Vox’s hands and they dropped to Val’s chest, those dagger-like claws curled into fists, still held tight with Val’s smoke.

Vox’s mouth opened with a short, shocked sound. Valentino leaned forward on instinct, tongue flicking out, tasting the air, the burn of static—

And stopped, less than an inch from Vox’s screen.

“Ah,” Val breathed. “Shit.”

“Hah!” Vox’s hands shifted to seize double handfuls of Valentino’s wings, still draped over his shoulders. “Is it that hard to keep your tongue to itself?” Vox asked, and the sight of that dumbass smug grin, like this one thing somehow proved Vox was more in control than him, burned hard and hot through Valentino’s gut.

Val’s cock twitched, pressed tight between them. It startled the grin off Vox’s mouth.

“Wh—”

Val pressed two fingers into the gap in Vox’s screen, slipping them neatly between his shark teeth to stroke over his inexplicably present, wet, warm tongue. “Nah,” he said, silky and low. “I just can’t help but want to put stuff in your mouth, baby.”

Vox’s expression flickered - and a luminous cyan tint spread over his screen when Val began to work his fingers in smooth, suggestive movements over Vox’s tongue. “Vll–” Vox mumbled around Val’s claws; Valentino ignored him, keeping his lidded gaze on the motion of his hand, in and out of Vox’s mouth.

With each inward stroke, he pressed the pads of his fingers to the length of Vox’s tongue, and he trailed the manicured tips of his claws over it on each withdrawal.

“–aal,” Vox tried again, eyebrows furrowed.

“Shh,” Valentino said.

Curling a hand tight on Vox’s ass, the other still gripping behind his knee, Val drew one leg up and braced his heel on the door for support - leaving Vox balanced on a long thigh. He rolled his hips in a slow thrust, rocked Vox’s dick between them, holding him steady. The hard pressure punched another moan from Vox’s mouth.

“What if I told you,” he murmured, working Vox against his thigh in a steady, undeniable rhythm now, “my plan is to make you come, right here, in your pants?” With a mean little smile, he added, “Like a fucking virgin.”

Vox groaned around Val’s fingers and shoved at them with his tongue. He tried to pull back, eyes sharp and frustrated. Valentino got the hint; he just didn’t take it. He followed easily, forcing Vox’s back into a sharp arch, fingers still pushing in and out of his mouth.

“Easy, Voxy,” Val purred, hauling Vox in harder, faster. Vox’s claws dug into the resilient velvet of his wings and his breathing pitched up, coming out in soft pants through his open mouth. “Let me get the edge off, hm? You’ve been so good, so far–”

Razor-sharp teeth bit down on his fingers, hard enough to make him stop. Static flashed across Vox’s monitor and set Val’s damp fingers tingling. When the teeth eased up, just enough for him to move again, Val pulled his fingers free. They dripped with faintly blue saliva.

“Shut up,” Vox rasped, expression a miserable grimace, hips rocking into every thrust. Tiny flashes of blue sparked from Vox’s bound hands, sizzling out on Val’s wings. “Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck—”

Valentino laughed. “It’s true,” he said. God, he couldn’t fucking help himself, anymore. “Look how nice and wet you got me.”

“Don’t–” Vox said again, voice a pitchy whine, but his eyes flicked over, locked on Valentino’s fingers, and there was no hiding how his cock throbbed in response.

“Don’t worry,” Valentino murmured. His hands cradled Vox close, dug into the seat of his pants to grip the curve of his ass, and held his leg tight as he rocked them together. He felt a minute tremble start in Vox’s thighs. “I’m not going to use spit when I fuck you, Vox.”

With Vox straddling his leg, pinned to his chest, it was impossible to miss how Vox tensed against him. Val held tight as Vox’s hips jerked, hard, frantic, as his sharp claws clutched at Val’s wings, as he curled forward, face jammed into the thick ruff at Valentino’s neck.

Valentino grinned, vicious and manic, as Vox’s cock pulsed. Vox came with a muffled groan, held tight in Val’s arms, riding out the aftershocks on Val’s fucking thigh.

Patient as a goddamn saint, Val held Vox until the shudders and shivers had dissipated.

The moment he caught his breath, Vox stilled, rather obviously, against his chest. One antenna sparked.

“Put me down,” Vox muttered to Valentino’s fur. He sounded - drained. Humiliated.

“Hm?” Valentino tilted his head, even if Vox wasn’t looking to see it. “Why would I do that?”

Vox’s antennae sparked again.

“...Val.”

“Baby,” Val pushed himself away from the door, holding tight to the bristling media demon. “You think that was all you needed? No,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “We’re just getting started.”

Chapter Text

Vox spit insults and abstract threats of violence the entire way to the bed. It was kind of cute, given the context - and the fact that he was surprisingly easy to manhandle, already caught up in Val’s arms.

Valentino kept that to himself, for the moment.

He dropped Vox on the bed, where he immediately struggled into a sitting position, buzzing with angry audio distortions. “Just–” he insisted, tone crackling and vicious, “Just because you keep talking about fu̷c̷̷k̷̷i̷ng me when I’m about to come, doesn’t mean that’s what– what I–”

He trailed off as Valentino rummaged in one of the bedside tables, extracting an untouched bottle of lube.

“We, we should talk about this,” Vox insisted. “How is this supposed to help me, e̷x̷-̷a̷-actly?”

Val tossed the bottle onto the bed beside Vox, whose cat-eyed gaze flicked toward it before returning to Val; his claws flexed, and his wrists twisted in the cherry smoke holding them together. “Val, I—”

Taking a long drag off his cigarette, Val climbed onto the bed, a knee between Vox’s legs. He took Vox’s hands in one of his own and shoved him onto his back in the sheets. Vox winced as his head hit a pillow.

“I’ve been wondering,” Valentino said, voice low, like he was telling Vox a secret. “What about how I treat whores gets you so worked up? You like how I make them take it? Bend them over, hold them down? Do you like when I work them open until they beg, or do you like it when I fuck them with no prep at all? You like when they’re so high on me you’d think they were in fucking love? Or do you like it when they cry?”

Vox glared. “...Fuck off,” he said. He twisted, digging the heels of his shoes into Val’s thighs.

Valentino leaned on Vox’s wrists with one hand and pressed him into the mattress with the others, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You want this,” he reminded him. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here, amorcito.” He bared his teeth in a razor-sharp grin. “Keep fighting though; makes it more exciting.”

“I wanted sex,” Vox snapped at him, screen flickering. “You don’t need to be a prick about it.”

“No?” Val asked. “You sure? You don’t want me to be mean to you, Voxy?” Vox’s gaze flicked to one side. “Don’t want me to push you around, hold you down, make you cry?”

“Cry?” Vox scoffed, but his expression lacked any real conviction. “From what? You ruining my fucking clothes?”

“Mm, no,” Valentino ground the heel of one hand into Vox’s zipper; he chuckled when Vox grimaced at the damp, tacky cling. “You ruined your own pants, babe. If you didn’t want to make a mess, you shouldn’t have come in them.” He leaned in, pressed another hand to Vox’s chest, and nuzzled the edge of his monitor. “Dirty boy.”

“Oh my ̷g̷̷o̷̷d̷ shut up,” Vox muttered, sounding so disgusted that Valentino might have bought it, if his antennae weren’t designed for calling out sexual bullshit.

Instead, Val laughed. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Vox’s screen, since his mouth was currently off-limits, before taking two hands to his shirt.

“Hey, don’t—”

Val pulled, and Vox’s vest and shirt buttons went flying.

“For ̷f̷̷u̷̷c̷̷k̷’̷s̷– ...Damnit, Val!” Static brushed over Vox’s voice and crackled through every vowel.

“See?” Val purred, deep and satisfied as he pet both hands down Vox’s newly-bared skin, following the path they made with his eyes. “When I ruin your clothes, you’ll know it. Now, keep your hands where they are - or I’ll tie you to the headboard, si?”

He took a moment to enjoy the look of mutinous anger on Vox’s flushed face, then released his wrists. Pressing two hands to either side of Vox’s chest, he leaned down.

“Val,” Vox said, hoarsely.

“Be quiet,” said Val. He dragged his tongue over one vivid cyan nipple, then took it in his mouth.

Vox fell silent, tense beneath Valentino’s hands. Val sucked lightly on the nub, eyes still on the glow of Vox’s monitor, and stroked a thumb over his other nipple. Vox’s legs twitched against Val’s thighs. The TV demon’s throat made a low, mechanical grinding sound - that startled into a gasp when Val licked harder, rolled his other nipple between thumb and forefinger.

“God—fucking—Val,” Vox snapped. “Will you...? S-Stop dicking around!”

Val straightened up, looked down at Vox with a lidded stare. Still flat on his back, claws clenched into fists above his head. “I thought I told you to be quiet?” Val said, voice low - threatening.

And, as if on cue, Vox bared his teeth and said, “And I thought I told you to make me but here we fucking are—”

Valentino’s hand landed hard on Vox’s throat; his fingers wrapped neatly around it, and held tight enough that he could feel the sudden, labored whine of Vox’s vents. Vox’s eyes opened wide, his left pupil a wave that pulsed in time with his galloping heartbeat.

“That’s right. You did, didn’t you?” Val growled. “You know why?”

Vox glared up at him - opened his mouth - and Val bore down harder, until Vox's eyes flashed wide and he started to struggle in earnest. His legs kicked out; his hands came down, claws finding Val’s wrist and sinking in deep. Cherise blood dripped down his hand, between his black fingers, and stained the sheets beneath Vox’s head.

“Do you know why?” Val repeated, unflinching.

He brought up his cigarette holder, pulled in a lungful of smoke, and breathed it out in a stream that tangled around Vox’s claws and forced them away from his arm. The smoke hauled his wrists back over his head and formed a short chain around the headboard’s ornate wrought iron. Vox’s blue-tipped fingers immediately locked on the metal - and a violent electric discharge sent sparks crackling along the headboard.

The static in the air buzzed along Val’s antennae, fluffed his fur, but left him unscathed.

He grinned, wide and mean. “That’s right,” he said, easing his grip. Vox sucked in a thin, gasping breath. “It’s because you know what you want, but you’re gonna fight it every step of the way. ...Maybe that’s even part of what you want, hm?”

Vox pressed his mouth into a thin line and said nothing; his chest heaved as he caught his breath under Valentino’s pressing fingers.

Val sighed softly. He ground his woefully-neglected cock against the inside of Vox’s thigh. It wasn’t enough, nowhere near enough, and he reached a hand to stroke himself as he leaned down. Mouth against Vox’s chest, he said, “Let’s try this again. Be. Quiet.” He flexed his fingers on the TV demon’s throat, jerked himself at a nice, steady pace, and scraped the sharp points of his fangs lightly over Vox’s peaked nipple.

Vox kept silent - mostly. His fans and external vents buzzed with agitation, and prickles of electricity flashed across his skin, but Val was pretty sure those were involuntary processes, so he left it alone. He focused his attention on the nub between his teeth, sucking until it was damp with spit, then moved over to the other one, working the first with his fingers instead.

After a minute, Vox’s hips twitched up against Valentino’s chest - and a moment later, a stuttered whine dragged itself out of Vox’s throat.

Valentino glanced up. The TV’s screen was bright in the darkened room, two points of bright cyan glowing on his digital cheeks. His eyes were wide beneath a furrowed brow, his ice-chip pupils fixed on the ceiling. His hands gripped the iron bars they were bound to, and his expression was strained.

Val’s cock throbbed. He could barely believe this was real. This was happening. He was gonna fuck him up. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva and worked himself a little harder.

“Good, amorcito,” he drawled, arousal thickening his accent. “That’s what I want to fucking hear.”

That vibrant red gaze flicked down to him, then back up. Vox grimaced, electricity zapping between his antennae.

Keeping one hand on Vox’s neck and one on his own dick, Valentino swept his second set of hands down Vox’s chest, over his narrow waist, and to the front of his slacks. Sharp fingertips dipped beneath the waistband, teasing; testing the fabric’s give.

Val let his tongue loll out, dripping toxin as he pulled Vox’s belt loose and raked the zipper down.

Vox’s screen tipped forward, and he sat up the few inches his bonds allowed. Val met his eyes; grinned while he popped the button on his slacks.

“For this next part,” Val said, “feel free to make as much noise as you want.”

He gave Vox’s neck one last squeeze before pulling his hand away. He hooked his fingers in the back of Vox’s pants and dragged them, along with his briefs, down to mid thigh, baring the TV demon’s dick in a single movement. Vox was already partially erect again, thighs messy with blue-tinted cum, and Valentino wasted no time leaning in to get a taste.

Salty, bitter - as you’d expect from someone whose diet consisted of coffee, cereal, and cocaine, almost exclusively. But laced with a metallic undertone that left his tongue tingling after.

“Ah,” Vox gasped. Then, when Val locked two hands around each of his thighs and spread his legs wider, “Shit. Shit, s̷h̷̷i̷̷t̷, ̷s̷̷h̷̷i̷̷t̷—” His head thudded back to the bed.

Valentino took his time, licking at the inside of Vox’s thighs, along the crease of his groin, leaving a trail of damp red saliva across the other demon’s dark skin. Vox twisted and shifted in Val’s grip - legs twitching in his hands, arms jerking weakly against his restraints. God, he was just, so fucking–

Val sucked a new set of marks into Vox’s thighs, tongue pressing closer and closer to - but never quite touching - the blue-tipped cock against Vox’s leg.

“Damnit–Val–What the hell ̷a̷-̷a̷re y - u–” Vox growled. His hips pressed up into Val’s mouth, and Val leaned back. “Val—!”

He was fucking perfect.

“So whiny,” Val said. “What do you need, baby? All you gotta do is ask.”

“You fucker, you know ̷w̷-what I–ah–”

Valentino stroked over his nipple again, grinning.

“Jesus...” Vox muttered. Another surge of electricity swept over the surface of his skin, fizzling out where Vox’s hands met the headboard. “Suck my dick, you asshole.”

Val chuckled, low and amused, against the base of Vox’s cock. “Is that how you ask for something?”

“I don’t ask for anything.”

“Mm. Is that so?”

Vox huffed and panted and squirmed beneath him; he lasted another minute or two before he gave in. “Come on, come on! Are you—? Fucking fine, fuck! Ugh, would – fuck you – would you please suck my dick you sadistic prick?”

Valentino’s antennae flicked, and he considered Vox for a moment.

“Well, we’ll work on it,” he decided.

He pressed his mouth to the head of Vox’s dick, sucked lightly, and wrapped his tongue around the shaft.

“Oh fuck.” Vox shuddered. His cock swelled in the grip, pulsing a bead of precum against Val’s lips. “Is this, uh—”

Valentino rolled his tongue in a smooth, undulating wave, and the TV demon’s sentence died in a moan. He sucked hard, uncoiled his tongue, and pressed it to the underside of Vox’s cock as he pulled the rest of the length into his mouth. Vox thrust up with a groan and Val eased back, keeping the blowjob shallow and messy. He worked his own cock to the same slow, teasing pace.

“Why are...?” Vox panted out, eventually. “What are you...nn, doing?”

With a sound of annoyance, Val pulled off entirely, slurping his tongue back into his mouth with an obscene sound.

“Oh, I‘m sorry,” he said, claw tips sinking into the meat of Vox’s thighs. “I didn’t realize you were the blowjob expert. Should I let you show me how it’s done, papi?”

“No,” Vox said. His head tilted forward again to catch Val’s gaze. “Guess I just, ah, thought you’d be better,” he said with an unfriendly grin.

Val blinked. Stared, for a moment.

“Ah,” he said, eyes hooding. “Is that so?” He bent back to Vox’s dick, took his hand off his own. “Well then, I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

He had been aiming to tease - work Vox up and ease him back down. Do it a few times, wind him up, get Vox to stop thinking so much.

But, well. If Vox was going to insult him...

He put his back into it this time.

Val’s tongue twisted hard and fast, lashing over the head of Vox’s cock before sweeping over the slit. His mouth hollowed as he sucked, coating the shaft liberally in toxin-laced spit, and one hand stole down to cradle Vox’s balls - smooth and vaguely rubbery, like the rest of the TV demon’s skin - rolling them lightly between practiced fingers. Valentino was nothing if not an artist, sex was his favorite art form, and Vox just happened to be a brand new canvas to work on.

His new rhythm was hard and steady, bobbing low on Vox’s cock and working the head with the curl of his tongue.

“̷V̷-Val–! Shit, I– ̷H̷-̷h̷old up, ah, I can’t–” Vox rambled, voice pitched up and interrupted by regular bursts of static.

Val’s tongue pressed to the soft spot beneath the head of Vox’s dick and, when he dipped down low to sink the entire length into his throat, a brief, deafening whine of feedback clipped from the TV demon’s mouth.

“Ah, I’m—” Vox gasped. “Val, ̷I̷’̷m̷ ̷g̷̷o̷̷n̷̷n̷̷a̷—”

With a growl that vibrated through the cock still in his throat, Valentino pulled off. He cinched a forefinger and thumb tight around the shaft.

Vox’s hips kicked frantically, chasing the rhythm Val had set. “Shit, what the fuck– D-don’t you dare, you fuck, you prick. I–̷g̷̷o̷̷d̷–I need—” His antennae flickered and sparked, singing the pillows at the head of the bed.

“I’m nowhere near done showing you how good I am, baby,” Valentino said, his teeth sharp in every word. “Now hold still. Let daddy take care of you.”

“Ah,” Vox breathed. “Come on, Val, I was joking, I... Oh, you prick, are you ̷k̷̷i̷̷d̷̷d̷̷i̷̷n̷̷g̷ me?!”

Good to know that sober Vox was just as whiny as toxin-high Vox - just a bit more coherent about it. For now. Val waited for some of the tension to ease in Vox’s legs, for his breathing to even out; then he loosened his fingers and dove back in.

“Fu̷u̷̷c̷̷k̷.” Vox’s shoes drove against the bedsheets, back arched as he strained to get deeper in Val’s mouth. Val held him down easily - extremely pleased he could do so - and set a steady, relentless pace.

The third time he stopped shy of Vox’s orgasm (a quick study, Val was, and Vox’s high-pitched electrical whining when he was getting close made for an easy tell), Vox kicked at the velvety fall of wings against Valentino’s back. Val leaned back, pinned his lower legs with one set of hands and his thighs with the other.

“You fuck,” Vox gasped, “you fuck you fuck, fuck you, what the fuck are you doing, come on, ̷c̷̷o̷̷m̷̷e̷ ̷o̷̷n̷—”

The air prickled at Val’s antennae, resonating with the low hum of Vox’s hypnotism. Valentino chuckled softly; swept his tongue along one of the valleys leading from hip bone to groin. Vox tasted like sweat...if sweat also sparked on the tongue and left behind a sharp, sour aftertaste. Like licking a lemon.

So Vox could sweat, too.

Val was learning all sorts of shit, today.

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “You’re not coming until I let you, hm? And I’m not letting you come until I hear you say what you want. Get me?”

“I want to come,” Vox said without missing a beat. “̷S̷̷s̷-̷s̷-̷s̷-ss-... So make it happen.”

Valentino grinned against Vox’s hip. “That’s not what I meant, Voxy. Don’t worry, though, baby, we got all night to get there.”

“Hah! Y-you thin-̷k̷ I’m gonna...?” Vox’s voice buzzed loudly, threaded with electricity. “̷Y̷-you’re a moron.”

“Mhm. Sure I am, amorcito.”

Val leaned down and sucked Vox’s cock into his mouth again. Vox let out a miserable little moan - high-pitched and breathy, the sort of sound that pulled Val right back to that night in the club.

It petered off into a sharp sound of alarm as Valentino’s tongue swept along the underside of his cock, then lower, sweeping over his balls, then past them, to the sensitive skin below.

“VAL-” Came Vox’s voice, bright with panic now. “—ah, Val, oh fuck, ̷f̷̷u̷̷c̷̷k̷, ̷w̷̷a̷̷i̷̷t̷, ̷w̷̷a̷̷i̷̷t̷–”

Valentino didn’t think he’d be able to wait if God himself crashed in through the ceiling and demanded it. Not now. He was so close, so fucking close.

He growled, low and resonant, with an echoing rasp of demonic power strumming in the air. He took Vox to the hilt, and his tongue pressed along the cleft of Vox’s ass.

Vox’s voice broke on a cry. Another surge of electricity swept over them - and the headboard crackled like an overloaded capacitor about to catch fire. Val ignored the pyrotechnics display. With one set of hands still holding Vox’s hips in place, his second set gripped at his ass, fingertips digging into dark flesh, parting his cheeks.

His impossibly long tongue trailed low and, finding the tight pucker of Vox’s hole, teased along its rim. Vox’s arousal rolled over Val’s antennae, searing like a brand, ozone and metal and–

“҉S҉҉T҉҉O҉҉P҉—” Vox snarled - Val felt an unpleasant wrench of pain, the clash of demonic energies as Vox strained against his smoke. Electricity sparked against his hands and left searing strips of pain up his arms.

Chapter Text

Valentino snarled as he pulled his mouth from Vox’s cock, wings flaring velvet-red in the dark. The thick haze of Val’s cherise smoke pressed in, and Vox’s static arced through it like lightning through a storm cloud. “Do we have a problem?” he growled, a smoky hiss curling around every word. “What did I tell you, Vox?”

“I can’t,” Vox said as Valentino leaned in close, his teeth bared in a snarl, toxin dripping from his mouth like blood. “I ̷c̷- I ̷c̷̷a̷– I’m not, I’m no̷t̷-̷t̷ some fucking—”

“What did I tell you?” Val’s hand caught Vox by the throat again and bore down hard, a sharp contrast to the low, lilting croon of his next words. “I don’t care what you are, baby. Tonight, here, in this room - you listen to me. You do what I tell you. You take what I give you. We clear?”

Vox’s stare locked on his, eyes wide and searching, like he was looking for an answer to some impossible question. “I...” he rasped, tinny and pitched.

“Are. We. Clear?”

The static still sparking off Vox’s body dissipated, and he slumped into the bedsheets like he’d just signed away his fucking soul. “Fuck. Yeah. I... Yeah.”

Val’s antennae flicked. “Good,” he said. He stroked another hand down the side of Vox’s monitor, fever-hot from excessive current; he gripped the edge and pressed the tip of his thumb to the screen beneath Vox’s electric-signal eye. “Cause next time you fucking shock me, I’m gonna pull your head off and throw it across the room.” Val dug fingertips into the sensitive seam where Vox’s neck met his head.

Vox scowled, averted his eyes - and his entire expression flickered to one side in a glitch. Valentino stared for a moment longer; still processing the sharp spike of ozone he’d just tasted on the air. Then his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Amor. Voxy,” he purred, anger gone as fast as it’d come. “How are you so fucking perfect?”

“I– ̷w̷-̷w̷-̷w̷-̷w̷̷h̷–̷t̷??” Vox’s claws screeched across the headboard, carving deep gouges into the metal, and his monitor brightness maxed out - casting vivid electric-blue light across the ceiling. “The fuck are you talking ab—oh, shit–”

Valentino finished pulling Vox’s pants off and whipped them across the room. Something fell, broke, but he didn’t bother checking what - busy hauling one of Vox’s dark legs over his shoulder, shoving the other aside, and -

“Val, don’t– Don’t you fucking dare—”

- licking a dripping line against the inviting, faintly-blue rim of Vox’s ass.

The sound Vox made then – a thin, whining moan that petered off into a choked-back sob – shot straight to Val’s cock. Heat pooled low in his gut. God Vox was so fucking tight, Val could tell already, he was going to ruin him if he—no, when he got his dick in there.

Good news: Vox clearly had nerve endings and sensations like any traditional sinner; Val had wondered, considering his weird, bio-mechanical nature.

Better news: Vox hadn’t been playing up his lack of bottoming experience. Every lick and press of Val’s tongue earned him another gasp or moan, and every one of them came out weak, overwhelmed, like Vox couldn’t believe it felt as good as it did. His legs twitched and jerked in Val’s hands, and he panted for breath like he was running a marathon.

“What the fuck,” Vox whined, voice thin. “Shit, oh shit, what the fuck are you, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

Valentino pressed the slick, tapered tip of his tongue against Vox’s hole.

Vox’s curses descended into unintelligible static-clipped exclamations; he twisted hard in Valentino’s arms. His legs kicked, his arms strained, but without an electrical current backing him up, he was like any other sinner pinned in Val’s hold. He felt weak. Small.

Pretty much everyone was small, under Valentino - but for it to be Vox, under him - sharp, clever, untouchable Vox whose waist he could nearly hold in one hand, whose dark, slender thighs he could... It was heady, it was perfect, it was like the first hit of a new designer drug cocktail; and as a serial addict, Valentino knew a new obsession when it sank its teeth in. His cock ached, just at the thought of what was coming.

Valentino’s claws dug in, leaving streaks of neon blue blood on Vox’s thighs. His tongue pressed in, and as it breached Vox, Val took the media demon’s cock in hand again, stroking lightly. Vox shook under him, sucking in breaths and moaning them back out, arousal vivid as lightning now. His cock dribbled precum against the pad of Val’s thumb as he swept it over the head.

“Ah, g-god, fuck, Val, what the fuck—”

Val had known - had fucking known - what Vox needed, but knowing wasn’t the same as witnessing it firsthand. This was so much more than he’d hoped – if Vox thought he’d get away with this being a one-time thing he was so fucking mistaken–

He worked Vox open painstakingly slowly, taking his time, enjoying the process. Enjoying, in particular, the way Vox bucked beneath him and clutched at the headboard and generally failed to bite back every wanton sound that came out of his mouth. Saliva drooled from Val’s mouth, slicking the way; his tongue dipping a little further each time. His own cock ached for just a bit of pressure, a little relief - but there was pleasure, too, in waiting.

Although Vox didn’t seem to share the sentiment.

“Ah, ah, come on come on come on–” the media demon whined, hips fighting his grip, trying to thrust up into every downward stroke on his cock. Valentino withdrew his tongue.

“Always in such a hurry,” he purred. He replaced his tongue with a single finger, testing his progress. “Trust me, baby, you’ll thank me for this later.”

“Shut up,” said Vox, eyes screwed shut. “I’m not– I don’t– I don’t mean– god, fuck, stop, stop, stop–” his voice broke into a whine as Val’s finger pressed deeper. The leg on Valentino’s shoulder tensed hard on the next stroke over Vox’s cock. “I-I need, I need– let me come, you prick, come on—”

Valentino was starting to suspect this was the first time Vox had ever been edged in his life. Cute.

“Nah,” Val said. “If you needed it, you’d be telling me what you really want. What’s got you so worked up, si?” He pulled his finger back, instead petting over the spit-damp pucker; if Vox was that wound up, he didn’t want to accidentally set him off early.

Vox’s mouth opened - then shut again, in a grimace.

“See? When you really need it, you won’t need to even think about it.”

And, ignoring Vox’s sputtering protests, Valentino leaned down, licked over his hole, and sank his tongue back in.

“Val–!” Vox barked out, a sharp edge of desperation in his voice Valentino didn’t think he’d ever heard before. “Ah, s-stop, I fucking can’t–” Val’s hips twitched forward on their own, rutting his own cock into the bedsheets.

His tongue moved with purpose now, rolling in careful undulating motions focused a couple of inches in, thrusting carefully but insistently. It was easy to tell when he’d found what he was searching for - Vox jerked like he’d been shot, eyes opening wide, and he sobbed out a downright slutty moan. His hole clenched on Val’s tongue.

“Oh shit...” Vox breathed, the next moment. “Holy fuck. What the fuck...?”

“There you go, papi. Good, isn’t it?”

Vox’s gaze flicked down to him. Just like their first time, he looked stricken - neatly torn between arousal and years of repression.

“Ahh,” Val sighed. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy, Voxy.”

Vox looked away immediately, screen bright, wincing like the compliment was somehow painful to hear. “Fuck you,” he muttered.

Valentino tilted his head, antennae brushing against Vox’s leg. “You don’t believe me? It’s true!” he sang. “Spread out under me-”

“Shut up.”

“-with your screen all bright-”

“Shut up!”

“-and your dick rock-hard while I lick you open?”

“VAL-”

“My sexy papi,” Val cooed. “There’s not a whore in all of Hell that could compare.”

“You fucking liar,” Vox snapped, eyes shut, brow furrowed.

Valentino chuckled. “I would never.”

Val thrust his tongue back inside Vox. Vox’s incoming retort faltered into a glitching gasp.

“Ah– D-d-don–t–”

He pressed in, deep - deeper, until the thicker part of his tongue stroked against that soft spot inside Vox with every thrust and undulation. The media demon grit his teeth against the sounds coming out of his mouth like it would keep Val from hearing and savoring every grunt, gasp, and whimper. His cock drooled precum, a slick, faintly-blue sheen that coated Val’s fingers as he continued to jerk it at a leisurely pace.

Once Vox’s hips began rocking up into each smooth thrust of his tongue, Valentino traded his tongue for fingers, hunting for the bottle to slather them with lube, then slicking and stretching Vox’s hole as he fucked him open.

Soon, Val thought. It’d be soon. Fuck, he was ready - he was so fucking ready.

“A-ah, ah, fuck... Val... Val—” Vox panted out, audio peaky and sharp with electrical whine.

“Tell me. Tell me what you need, baby.” Val’s eyes burned cherise in the dark. Toxin streamed from his mouth, and his smoke pressed in close, thick and heavy.

Vox’s head jerked like he was trying to shake it; sparks flashed between his antennae.

“Vox.” Val stroked hard over Vox’s prostate.

“Please!” Vox bit out. Then, like a dam had broken, “Please, please please please–you motherfucker–please, I– I can’t– I can’t—!”

“Sure you can. Say. It.”

“Fuck!” Vox snarled, sounding on the verge of tears - god, if he made Vox so desperate he cried before even getting fucked, Val was gonna come all over the bedsheets-

“Fuck me, please, you fuck, just—fuck me, alright? Fuck me, f-fucking, fuck me up, you prick, that’s why I’m fucking here–please—”

Jesucristo, that might do it too.

A deep, rolling moan pulled itself free of Val’s chest and his cock jerked against his stomach.

Valentino leaned forward, pushing Vox’s knee to his chest as he loomed over the media demon’s cyan-flushed screen. “Of course, papi,” he murmured. He dipped down and pressed a chaste kiss to the edge of Vox’s mouth. “Good boy, Voxy.”

Vox whined miserably. “Fuck you, shut up, now let me come before I die, you sadist.”

“Mm.” Valentino considered it. “That depends. If you come now, I’ll have to work a third one out of you before I’m done.” Valentino’s grin stretched, predatory and wide. “You think you’re up for that?”

“Yeah,” said Vox, immediately. “Yeah, sure, of course –fuck– I– I can— Whatever you fucking want– Just let, fuck, let me—”

Val teased another finger at Vox’s rim, moved back down the media demon’s body, and curled his tongue around Vox’s cock.

“Holy shit–” Vox gasped out as Val - instead of holding him down, this time - worked his tongue smoothly with the motions of Vox’s hips. He let Vox thrust into the slick, tight, squeezing grip exactly as fast as he wanted. Vox’s arms twisted and jerked; his claws bit deep, bloody lines into his palms.

And when Val pressed that third finger in, working his hand in neat counterpoint to the rhythm Vox had set, he unfurled his tongue to swallow Vox’s dock to the hilt at the same time.

“Ah—” Vox said. Then his voice cut off with a screech of feedback.

His cock throbbed once, twice, in Val’s throat, and then he was coming hard enough the headboard’s iron bars creaked ominously under the pressure of holding him down. His entire body strained to curl into the release. His hole clenched around Val’s fingers, tight as a vice. His screen flashed a jumbled, disorienting wave of nonsensical colors before flicking back to his stunned expression, and the single bulb in the room surged fever-bright with a threatening hum.

Val swallowed each pulse of cum in stride, pulled back to lap at the head after Vox had slumped into the sheets. He gave one last, teasing suck - the media demon’s leg twitched sharply against his shoulder - and grinned down at the mess he’d made of his partner.

“Whatever I want, huh?” he said, at length. “You should watch what you say, Voxy.”

For a minute, Vox didn’t respond. When he did, his voice rasped with static. “How is that any different from what you’ve been doing?” he asked, managing to sound both sated and annoyed. He cracked an eye open at Val in a narrow glare.

Valentino gave him a wink and wiggled the fingers still in his ass. Vox’s screen glitched, then flashed cyan as he looked away.

“It’s different,” Val assured him. He ran his tongue over his teeth, gaze going dark and reflective. “I’ll have to show you some other time, though, hm? Tonight’s all about you.”

As if to punctuate that statement, Val reached for the lube again. He popped the cap open, dribbled a puddle into his hand, and slicked his cock with a few perfunctory strokes.

“Val...” The media demon’s expression was uneasy. “...Listen.”

Val’s eyes narrowed. He pulled his fingers from Vox - who grimaced like he hadn’t just come with them in his ass - and flashed his cruelest grin. “This’s where you tell me there’s no way you can come again, right?”

Vox’s grimace twisted into a snarl. “Fuck you,” he spat, which sounded to Val a lot like ‘yes’. Then, when Valentino’s cock slipped along the crease of his ass, he added a desperate, “Wait, Val– Wait—”

Val was way, way, far beyond waiting. He had, in retrospect, been waiting for this exact moment for fucking years. “We’ll just have to prove you wrong, hm?” he said. He lined himself up and pressed in.

Vox was tight. Hot. A perfect mix of silicon and muscle, squeezing on the head of Valentino’s cock hard enough that it was almost painful.

Vox’s lithe body surged beneath him as he heaved, suddenly bucking, fighting, panicking. “V-val! Fuck, wait–!” His arousal served as a heady counterpoint to his words, his actions; rich as lightning, it rolled over Val like a storm. “Stop!” Vox snarled. “Fuck, fuck, I fucking—gh, wait, I can’t—”

Val held him down, dug new bruises into his hips. He curled a hand around the thigh still hitched over his shoulder, and pinned Vox’s other leg against his side. “Ah, shit,” he said, sinking an inch, two, into that tight, clutching heat. He moaned, low and breathy. “There you are, Voxy.”

“Shut the fuck up–!” Vox hissed. Followed by a soft, gutted, “...Ah...” as Val pulled out and sank back in, a little deeper this time.

“Shh.” Val thrust again, and rocked his hips to drive his cock deeper; deeper. “Daddy’s working,” he growled.

It was good. It was good. It was fucking perfect, Vox was perfect, splayed beneath him with his mouth open, eyes wide in disbelief. “God, papi, you’re so fucking hot when you just—” He leaned forward, bracing his upper hands on either side of Vox’s bared chest, dripping red saliva onto that dark, blue-flushed skin. “—fucking take it.”

He sank home with a deep, rolling groan. Vox made a sharp, pathetic sound, legs trembling with tension. His claws screeched against the headboard railing.

“Shit,” Vox breathed, voice shaking and threaded with static. “It’s...I’m not...I can’t—”

Too coherent. Valentino wanted Vox like he’d been that first night; so worked up he could barely manage a single word.

To that end, he eased back out, until only his cockhead remained buried in Vox; then thrust in, hard and fast - just how he liked. Vox cried out, then snapped his mouth shut again, eyes shut, whimpering through his teeth.

“Sure you can,” Valentino purred against Vox’s overheated screen. “You’re my good boy, no?”

Vox choked on a whine - then cried out, again, louder, when Valentino repeated the movement. He squirmed on Val’s dick, shuddering. “Fuck,” he gasped, “Val, you fucker, I fucking can’t, you fucking...ah, shit.” Vox’s cock twitched weakly on his stomach, already chubbing up again despite his frantic insistence on the contrary.

Valentino sucked in a breath and let it out in a groan. The sensations on his cock - the heat, the pressure - and the sheer, overwhelming arousal of Vox letting him do this to him — it was too much. It was too fucking much.

Val knew he was no saint. He was a fucking sinner, through and through - and he’d never been one to hold back. Vox knew that better than anyone, the little voyeur. Vox knew that - and Vox had wanted him.

And with that thought, Valentino started fucking him in earnest. Thrusting in hard and deep, eyes fixed on Vox’s expression, claws digging into the other Overlord’s thighs for a better grip. Vox’s breath hitched sharply every time Val’s cock bottomed out, and soft, shocked little sounds kept escaping his throat when Val shifted him to test a different angle.

He hauled Vox’s ass further into his lap, and his next thrust had Vox whimpering his way through a moan - Vox’s ass clenched hard on Val’s dick, and the media demon panted out a hungry, desperate, “Fuh –ah– Fuck, Val–!”

Valentino snarled and picked up the pace, grinding against the spot that made Vox jerk and moan on every inward press.

He had intended to work Vox up to begging again; find his prostate, give him a taste, then tease him until he cracked. But right now, Valentino just didn’t have it in him. He wasn’t sure he was capable of stopping. Period. He wanted more, more, faster, harder.

“I knew it,” he hissed once he had Vox letting out high, breathy, staccato cries with every thrust. “You fucking — love this — don’t you, Voxy? Me fucking you? — Me making you? — Holding you down — and forcing you to take it?”

Distortion rolled across Vox’s screen; his expression flickered and glitched. He jerked his head again in weak denial, while his cock spilled precum onto his heaving stomach. “Don’t,” he moaned.

Val knew what he meant. Don’t make me admit it. Don’t make me acknowledge it.

“Yeah you do,” Val said. “I knew you would. Just — fucking — look at you–!”

A violent surge of energy lanced through the smoke holding Vox in place.

The binds vanished in trailing pink wisps, and before Val could reel back, Vox lunged.

Valentino had a half-moment to be shocked - to wonder if he was about to get shocked. If, somehow, he’d misjudged Vox after all. If the media demon was about to go back on their agreement - but then Vox’s blue claws were in his ruff.

Instead of shoving Val off or stabbing him in the gut or frying him or any of a hundred uncomfortable deaths that crossed Val’s mind at that moment, Vox hauled him in close. He clutched at Valentino’s fur like a lifeline, sobbing choked-off sounds into his chest. His cock nudged against Val’s stomach, smearing a line of drooling precum against it.

“Ah, fuck–” Valentino moaned, mouth against Vox’s shoulder. “Vox – you little bitch–” His hips drove into the other sinner harder, again - again - again–

He grabbed Vox’s dick in one hand and started jerking it in time with his thrusts. Vox's claws pulled at his fur, his heels digging sharply into Val’s back.

“F-fuck,” Vox panted. “Oh fuck, oh fuckfuckfuck–”

“You gonna come?” Val asked, voice dark, hungry. “C’mon, papi — come on my dick–”

And, with a shorting, electrical snarl, Vox did. The media demon clung to him like a bitch in heat, curling into Valentino’s next thrusts, fucking desperately up into his hand. His cock pulsed weakly in Val’s grip, oozing cum between his fingers, and his ass clutched at Valentino’s dick like it was trying to keep him there, clenching with every frantic jerk of Vox’s hips.

“...Val...” Vox whined. He sounded wrung out - fucked out.

Valentino heard himself growling as if from afar, head hazy with mindless arousal, the consuming need for more. “So good,” he muttered, barely aware of what he was saying, focused on getting as deep as he could with every shove of his hips. “So fucking good — ah — Voxy, fuck, I’m gonna fill you up–”

Vox’s voice pitched up as Val kept fucking him, a ragged, overstimulated edge to his cries. His claws scrabbled at Val’s back, raking fresh gouges into him.

“Val—Val—fuck, fuck, stop—!”

Vox let out a sobbing moan, and that was it. Val’s pace turned erratic as he felt the undeniable build of his approaching orgasm. He drove into the other sinner’s tight hole, using his grip on Vox’s legs to drag him back into every thrust. Searing pleasure speared through his gut, swept over him in a wave, and Valentino came harder than he had in months.

He bit down on Vox’s neck and buried himself to the hilt, shoving in again with every pulse of cum. His ears filled with white noise, his antennae flicking and twitching with raw stimulation. He rolled his hips in shallow thrusts, groaning against the raw wound in Vox’s neck as he felt the fresh lubrication he’d put there.

As he came down from the buzzing high, Valentino leaned up. Vox’s neckline and shoulders were littered with bruises, and his newest bite was leaking cyan-blue blood. When Vox’s grip loosened, leaving him slumped back in the bedsheets, Val couldn’t stop the extremely, extremely smug grin slicing across his face.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen such a glazed, dazed look in Vox’s eyes – and he’d seen him on just about every combination of drugs he could think of. For a moment, he just admired the view.

“...What do you think, Voxy?” Val gave his hips a light grind. “Ready for the next round?” His cock hadn’t softened - rarely did, after a single orgasm - and Vox shoved a shaking hand against his chest.

“Nn. Don’t. I’ll die,” Vox groaned. “I’ll fucking die. You’re a lunatic. I’m gonna kill you.”

“Nah, you already said you wouldn’t,” said Val. He knocked Vox’s hand aside and settled on top of the media demon, ignoring his huffing and grumbling.

“I said I wouldn’t fry you,” Vox muttered against his antenna. “Got other ways to kill you. Loopholes, jackass.”

Valentino rolled that around in his head. It sounded like bullshit to him, but...

“Fine, then. I’ll give you five minutes.”