Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ever thought about doing porn, Vox?” Velvet said, hopping up to perch on the corner of his desk. She swung her legs playfully.

“I beg your pardon?” Vox put down the pen and looked at her, startled by the question. She had a familiar glint in her eye that meant she was scheming. 

“You know, films! You’ve got all the cameras and stuff, right?”

“Ah. Sure, but I haven’t got the time.”

“I know someone who does.” Her smile was smug.

“Everyone does. Sluts are a dime a dozen down here. I don’t need a star, Vel, I need a producer.”

“That’s what I mean, dummy. This guy’s real good—knows the business. I think you’d hit it off.”

“A bold claim, considering you thought Alastor and I would also be best chums.” That little meeting had immediately gone up in flames and left all parties with deep scars and a simmering resentment. Velvet pouted. 

“That was a fluke. Would it kill you to trust me? 

“Honestly? Maybe.”

“You’re such a prick. Come on. I have a good feeling about this one!”

Vox considered the idea, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He’d been thinking about expanding his media empire into the adult entertainment sector for ages but every potential partner had been a bust. They didn’t care for variety or quality—just dick in pussy in-and-out every single goddamn time. Vox wanted something that would appeal to sinners of all flavors and tastes, something that would cast a wide net and keep consumers coming back for more. He wanted to be a cut above the rest. Mediocrity simply wouldn’t do.

“Fine.”

-x-

This club was unlike any he’d seen before. The outside was neon and brazen in its advertisements for salacious delights. He could hear a thumping beat coming from inside, even from across the street. The attendees smoked reefer outside the doors and wore shirts so low and skirts so short they might as well have been belts. No expectant valets, or platters of champagne, or endlessly accommodating waitstaff.

When had the world changed so much?

He prided himself on his modernity, producing new technology to replicate the advancements on the surface, but this was out of his wheelhouse. He’d advanced his business but it appeared his social know-how was on a severe decline. He felt over-formal and out-of-place in his usual suit. Velvet looked more the part in a short, swingy dress that echoed flappers but still fit into the milieu.

How clever of Valentino to host their meeting here. Vox was already off-kilter just standing outside. The playing field would be much more even this way. 

It was a smart move.

Vox liked that.

Velvet pulled him by the hand through the doors and going inside was like being punched. It was loud, the air was hazy with smoke of all sorts, and the activities were completely depraved. He’d been to a few strip joints in his life, weaseling his way out of the theaters during raids, but this was a new breed of carnal delights. Women and men in barely-there costumes did sensual acrobatics on poles and slobbering customers shoved money at them and sometimes onto them through their costumes. The dancefloor was equally lecherous with dancing so close and so graphic it might as well have been sex. The floors were sticky with spilled booze and sweat and Satan knows what else. 

Vox was an alien here. He used to feel so at ease in a crowd--he always knew how to work a room and win hearts--but here he had no idea how to appeal to the masses. Multicolored lights reflected off a dazzling ball of mirrors on the ceiling that turned the relative darkness into a blinding flash. It was nauseating. Like being trapped in a damp kaleidoscope. 

Velvet nudged a cold little glass into his hand and grinned. Vox peered at the liquid inside. With all the blinking lights he couldn’t even tell what color it was supposed to be.

“Cheers!” Velvet looped their arms together and clinked the glasses, sloshing a bit over the rim and onto their hands. They tossed back their shots and Vox sputtered while Velvet laughed.

“What the hell was that?” he shouted over the music, tugging a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the residue off his mouth.

“A Cowboy Cocksucker!” she replied cheerily before hurling her glass into the crowd. He couldn’t even hear the sound of it shatter over the noise. 

“Warn me next time!” Ugh. The taste lingered on his tongue, strangely buttery and creamy with the familiar burn of undiluted alcohol creeping underneath. Much too sweet. It roiled in his stomach. Velvet rolled her eyes.

“You’re such a friggin’ square. Live a little!” Velvet snatched his hands in hers and tugged him further into the pulsing crowd. 

She released his hands when they were deep enough in the madness and held her arms over her head as she began to dance, a slinky sway that bopped to the beat and resembled nothing of the sweeping formal dances Vox actually knew how to do. He felt sweaty already just from the hot crush of bodies on either side as he stood, frozen in place.

“C’mon! Just let the music move through you!” 

“Velvet, I’m not here for dancing!”

Vox wished Velvet’s confidence and ease was infectious. Even the music was foreign to his ears—fast-paced, horn-heavy and with a techno sound he couldn’t assign to any instrument he knew. He looked at his friend helplessly. She was making no moves to guide him anywhere. A tall demoness in a sequin jumpsuit and mini-cape slithered between Vox and Velvet and placed her hands on Velvet’s waist, smiling wickedly. Velvet winked over the woman’s shoulder at Vox as the two gyrated together and vanished into the crowd. 

God damn it.

He was on his own in finding Valentino, then.

He startled at hands sliding over his waist and whirled around, muscles tense. A young demon in an open button-down and low-slung pants with glitter across his exposed skin smiled at him, eyelids heavy with drugs or booze or both. The hands reached out for him again, to pull him into rocking hips, and Vox snarled wordlessly, shoving the stranger away. The man shrugged and turned to find another target, unaffected by Vox’s vehement rejection. 

Vox pushed to the wall, feeling claustrophobic. Even the fucking floor was shifting with colored lights, lit from below with blinding neon squares that danced to the thumping beat. How could anyone tolerate this complete assault on the senses? There was a stair leading to a second level, and he worked his way up, desperate for a corner where he could take it all in, pushing past grinding bodies and shameless canoodlers.

He didn’t find any relief when he reached the top. The second floor was apparently reserved for fucking. Couples writhed on red leather couches, limbs locked together in various states of undress between more bodies drunkenly hump-dancing. He slid through the crowd, careful to avoid touching sweaty exposed skin and squeezed into a circular booth, tugging at the collar sticking to his neck, and sighed into his hands. He was in over his head. He should’ve gone to the exit instead—Velvet’s plan be damned.

“There you are. I was worried sick about you.” came a smooth voice. Vox looked over and saw Valentino’s red eyes peering at him from the dim. The pimp leaned forward, heart-shaped glasses catching the light and glinting. He smiled broadly. A gold tooth shone on the right side of his sharp smile—Vox wondered if it was a stylistic choice or the result of a run-in with another demon.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over your outfit!” Vox mock-shouted. The red coat with zebra fur lining and a heart-patterned ruff over a zebra-patterned suit was one of the most garish things he’d ever laid eyes on. Valentino laughed. Red smoke billowed from between his teeth.

“That’s rich coming from business Freddy Krueger.” 

Vox smiled. It was nice to have somebody willing to dish it back—blind obedience got stale after the first decade. And he had to admit—the pimp wore the suit well. It was well-tailored and fit his lean, lanky frame just right. A sliver of his broad chest was exposed and Vox tried not to stare at the way his pale lavender skin contrasted nicely against the stark black-and-white pattern.

A waitress in a skimpy one-piece lingerie set placed a whiskey on the low table. Vox took a sip.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Velvet said you make yourself out to be a capable producer of adult content.”

Valentino grinned and blew out a long column of smoke.

“I ran a studio on the surface world for a while, made some good money on the BDSM and snuff scene. Imagine what we can make down here without all those pesky laws.”

“Why should I take a gamble on you? You’re still new.”

“How many newbies you know built seven clubs in less than a year? I’m on the rise, baby. I may be new but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my shit.” Valentino leaned forward, stubbing out his cigarette. “Look. You got the equipment, I got the workers and the know-how, and Vel’s got the drugs to keep ‘em doped up and happy. Ya can’t lose.”

It was a solid point. Vox had pulled up every scrap of information on Valentino earlier in the day and the pimp really was making quite a name for himself. Vox cocked his head thoughtfully. 

“Plus, you don’t even gotta sweat a location. I’ve got a studio in the works right now—off route 666 and Brimstone Ave. Twenty floors—ten just for studios.”

“And the other ten?”

“Brothels. And a penthouse. I gotta live somewhere, might as well have a short commute.” Valentino winked and Vox smiled despite himself. The pimp was smarter than he looked.

“And how do you suggest we split the profits of this venture?”

“Straight down. Fifty-fifty.”

“Seventy-thirty. I’m supplying the equipment, marketing, and manufacture.”

“Sixty-forty for the first year and then we can renegotiate—but I know it’ll turn a mad profit. Folks down here are hungry. They wanna see something filthy and depraved.” Valentino tossed a folder on the table and it skidded in front of Vox. He picked it up and thumbed through it: scripts, set designs, and genres. Bondage, gang bangs, religious parody, teacher and student…the list went on. It made Vox flush slightly and he hoped it wasn’t noticeable in the low light. He tossed the papers back onto the table and took another sip of whiskey to stabilize himself.

“You’ve piqued my interest. Tell you what: you’ve got a deal but if I’m not seeing a 70% return on investment in a year, you’re exorcist bait.”

“Fair enough.”

“Excellent. To summarize: I, Vox, will provide you, Valentino, with the technical equipment necessary to film and record pornographic films, as well as produce physical copies to sell and establish marketing avenues for said films. I expect to see my investment return to me at thrice the value in one year’s time. Should you fail to meet this benchmark, I’m terminating our contract and seizing your assets.”

Valentino’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, amused by Vox’s businesslike air. Vox stood and held out his hand, claws glowing neon in the dark club. Valentino mirrored him, towering over the media Overlord and bending down ever so slightly to make eye contact. Vox’s skin prickled at the gesture. He hadn’t realized the pimp was so god damn tall.

“By shaking my hand, do you hereby swear on your honor and your soul to uphold the conditions of the deal as decided?”

“May Satan be my judge should I break this oath.” Valentino said smoothly, grinning wickedly as he grasped Vox’s hand. His long fingers reached down to Vox’s wrist. Blue electricity crackled around their hands and Vox felt a swell of warmth surge through his skin, creeping up his arm. A light pink glow emanated from between their fingers. The heat surged into a painful flash and vanished. 

“Looking forward to doin’ business with you, boss man.” Valentino purred, pulling his hand back. 

“Indeed.” Vox’s hand felt cold without Valentino’s fingers wrapped around it.

A sudden change in music drew their attention to the stage below, where a singular dancer was taking the spotlight. The crowd stilled partly to watch the performance. Vox squinted.

“Is that a man?”

“That’s Dante. Good, huh?” Vox stared at the dancer in curiosity and revulsion. The sculpted planes of his abdomen and hard lines of his back muscles were a Grecian dream. The way he moved, though...that sort of stuff was a woman's wheelhouse. Slinky, sexy. Strange. 

Spellbinding.

“Want me to bring him up to ya after?” Valentino offered with a sly grin. “It’s on the house.”

“No!” The response came out with more venom than intended. Vox choked a bit on whiskey as it bubbled back up from his throat. Valentino raised his eyebrows.

“No need to shout. I can hear ya just fine.”

“Apologies.” 

“S’okay.”

“I’m not that sort of person.” Vox added.

“The sort of person who fucks whores or fucks men?”

“Satan, neither, but mostly the latter.”

“Okay.” The short response felt like a barb. Vox took a long sip and let the burn fill his chest, hoping to displace the unpleasant churning in his gut. His face felt hot.

Dante swung around the pole, thighs gripping the metal tight. His skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat Vox could see from even the balcony. The man slid down until his back rested against the floor, grinning upside-down at his eager audience. His muscles rippled as he hooked his thumbs into his little glittery shorts, pulling down to reveal soft, toned skin. The hem started to drag over his bulge and Vox’s heart leapt into his throat as the base of Dante’s cock crept into view.

He looked away and busied himself with stubbing out the cigarette.

Enough. That was enough. The drink and the smoke was making him out-of-sorts. He’d done what he’d intended to do and now he was free to leave.

“I’ll have my people contact you. See you around.” He didn’t linger to hear Valentino return the farewell.

Vox shoved his way back out the club, ignoring hands that dragged over his body in invitation to dance or something more intimate. He didn’t see Velvet and frankly felt too electric to look for her. He needed fresh air. He was already in Hell but this place actually fucking felt like it.

Cigarette and reefer smoke hung outside the club in a cloud and it made him nauseous. That nasty shot Velvet had given him earlier certainly wasn’t helping matters and the surge of confidence from making a deal had dissipated.  

He could still taste the smoky burn of whiskey on his tongue. Men, muscled and gyrating on silver poles, sweat dripping from their skin. Warm hands with long claws and big smiles of sharp, shiny teeth. He shook his head and tried to think of the women in short dresses he’d seen, breasts barely contained by thin fabric and smooth rounded thighs shining under the flashing lights. What sluts. They probably got hammered on cheap rail drinks and got fucked in dirty bathroom stalls, pussies dripping through their thongs when they went back out on the dance floor.

Dante.

Valentino.

Whatever.

Chapter Text

The studio floor was quiet. The key lights facing the presenter’s desk lit up the set in a steady white light, glinting off the metal accents and filling the big room with a gentle glow. The scent of stale coffee and fresh printer ink lingered in the air although the crew had long gone home. The studio, usually full of rushing assistants and camera crews and chattering audience members, took on a liminal feeling in their absence, suspended in motion between the last live report and the next one a few hours away. 

“Well? I'm here.” Vox paused, listening for a sign of life. “Don't pretend to be a tiger if you’re just a pussy.” 

A long, shapely leg stepped from the shadows, revealing the waiting figure he’d come to meet. Streaks of clumpy mascara ran down her cheeks from puffy red eyes. Her normally well-coiffed hair was half-undone and tangled and her signature blue pantsuit was disheveled like she’d been sleeping in it. A mostly-drunk bottle of vodka hung in a loose fist at her side.

“Oh, Rebecca. How the rose does wilt.” Vox intoned with fake sympathy. Truthfully, he delighted in seeing her transformation into a shadow of herself. It was what she deserved.

“You're making a mistake. That little Killjoy bitch will never be able to replace me.” She said, voice thick with tears and cracking from dehydration. Rebecca Restell had long been the female anchor for the news station, with a rabidly obsessive following, but her arrogance had brought her too close to the sun. Vox overheard her bragging to her fans that she’d own the network before too long and, well, sometimes a bitch needs to be put in her place. She’d been fired and escorted out on-air and the new anchor, Katie Killjoy, brought in to replace her.

It wasn’t going over well.

“I think a rabid dog could replace you at this point, frankly. Look at yourself.” He gestured up-and-down to her bedraggled appearance. “Not a soul wants to see you, and I can hardly blame them.”

She hurled the bottle and Vox ducked it neatly as it shattered on the wall behind him. He tsked and frowned.

“Well, that’s simply unprofessional.”

“Fuck you.”

“You tried that already. It didn’t work.” Vox grinned. Like any attention-loving beauty with her head on the chopping block, Rebecca had gotten on her knees to try and persuade him but he’d turned her away--she’d done him favors before and to be quite honest, she wasn't worth the time. Besides, watching her weep and beg on the floor of his studio was much more satisfying than any soggy blowjob.

She clenched her fists, long red nails digging into her palms and drawing blood. She bared her teeth.

“You'll pay for this.”

“At least one of us is getting paid, eh?” Vox laughed and then hissed at a cold sensation tearing through his side.

A large gash was torn through his jacket, leaving ragged threads and a wide hole. Red seeped from underneath in a molasses-slow flood. He touched it gingerly with his fingers and turned to see the culprit behind him—Restell’s favorite and most dedicated cameraman holding a crossbow, his face a mask of determination and fury on behalf of his beloved anchor. Vox grinned.

“You never were good at point-and-shoot.” 

Vox lunged and the cameraman fumbled, trying to reload another bolt. Vox sent an arc of blue electricity out from his claws in a wave that dropped the demon like a sack of stupid bricks, the bow sent skittering across the tile. Vox punched down to the center of the man’s gut, fist crackling with static.

“Next time you try to kill someone, bring a semi-automatic, you wretched dunce.” He spat before pulling his arm back and bringing a writhing mass of black-and-blue cables bursting through the demon’s stomach. The scream was cut off by a gurgling wave of blood erupting from his mouth. 

A stabbing pain burst through Vox’s shoulder and he turned precisely as Rebecca hurled another dagger toward him. It pierced right into his left eye, sending a web of cracks across half his vision. It didn’t hurt, per se, not like the gash in his side and slice in his shoulder did, but it was damnably inconvenient. He turned to fully face her, shrugging off the pain in his side and yanking the blade out of his screen. 

“Is this your entire plan, Becky?” He asked mockingly, using the nickname she hated so fervently. She spat and pulled out another dagger. “Arrows and knives? How adorably medieval.”

Vox threw out a hand and clenched his fist as he pulled it back. Cables burst from the wall behind Rebecca and snapped around her wrists and ankles. The dagger was wrenched from her hand and tossed to the side. She kicked and writhed as she was pulled against the wall spread eagle. He approached her slowly, vision swimming with colorful static and warm blood seeping into his suit. A cord wrapped around her neck and pulled tight.

He smiled as rage dropped from her face and was replaced by cold fear. Her black scleras were wide and glossy with brimming tears, lips trembling with unspoken cries for mercy. Usually Vox liked to play with his kills but having his suit and screen ruined had put him in a sour mood. He smiled maliciously at her and raised a hand, blue claws glowing bright.

“I think it’s time you went off-air for good.” He reeled back and punched through her chest, a burst of blue electricity filling the room with a white burst of light. He squinted against the blinding flash and grinned as her flesh seared and charred from the inside out. Once he’d burned a hole the size of a soccer ball he stepped back, letting her burnt body crumpled to the floor in a flaky heap. 

It would be an absolute bitch to recover from.

And as if on cue, his shoulder and side began to throb. He touched a claw to the slice in his shoulder and hissed at the sting.

“Smells like hotdogs.”

Vox turned, startled, and saw Valentino standing in the doorway, looking around at the studio-turned-murder-scene.

“Why aren’t you in the car?”

“Got bored. Smelled blood.” Valentino shrugged. “Don’t act like I’m the one in the wrong while you went and got your dumb ass shot.” He gestured to Vox’s side, where the blue suit had been turned a dark midnight color by the blood oozing from underneath.

“My ass is not dumb. It’s great.” 

“It’s flat and arrogant.” Valentino shrugged off his coat and folded it over before laying it on the cold tile floor. “Lay there.” The pimp nodded to the makeshift bed and tugged on a loose thread on his suit, carefully unspooling the pale thread and wrapping it around a couple fingers.

“It’ll get ruined.” Vox protested. The pain radiating from his side made the whole world seem fuzzy at the edges. 

“I’ve got another just like it. Just lay down.” Valentino’s voice was snappish and Vox was too tired to argue further. He grimaced as he peeled off his jacket and shirt, blood-soaked cloth sticking to the tender wound before slightly lowering to the ground atop the coat. His bones hurt. It’d been a long time since he’d properly fought. Perhaps he needed to spar more.

He traced the side wound with featherlight fingers. It was warm and wet with blood. Everything over his left eye was fractured and colorful like a kaleidoscope but instead of being delightful the effect just made him nauseous. Valentino lowered to the floor next to him and pushed Vox’s hand away. He carefully held a sharp needle in one hand and Vox vaguely remembered how the pimp always had a little kit for costume repairs somewhere on his person.

“Oh, good. I was hoping this would get more excruciating.” Vox said, voice flat. The only thing worse than being injured is having to be cared for like a pitiable child.

“Don’t worry.” Valentino’s voice was muffled as he clamped the needle between his teeth as he pulled the rest of the thread through. “This ain’t my first rodeo. I’ve stitched up plenty of folks.”

“Did they live?”

“Most of ‘em.” He gently pinched the split flesh together, making Vox wince.

“How comforting. Your bedside manner is impeccable.” Vox made a face and looked away as the needle pushed through the ragged, bloody skin.

“You’re already dead. Can’t die again. Relax.”

“I can’t die, but I can be disfigured.” Vox sneered. He gripped a fistful of the coat’s soft lining and tried not to whine like a bitch as Valentino sewed ever-so-slowly. The pimp paused and put a hand on Vox’s shoulder. Their eyes met. Valentino’s expression was sincere.

“I promise I won’t fuck you up.” Then the pimp smiled. “I can’t. You’re already too fuckin’ ugly.” Vox laughed then winced with pain as the wound seized and shot a jolt of pain down his side. He punched Valentino in the arm.

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

Vox took slow, shallow breaths as Valentino worked in silence, forcing a needle through skin and bringing torn flesh together as gently as he could. It smelled like coppery blood and acrid ozone. He couldn’t suppress the little grunts of pain that bubbled up each time the needle pulled through him anew, sewing up the gash like a rip in an old teddy bear. He tried to focus on counting the stitches as they were made to distract himself from the radiating pain of the wound and the burn of the needle and thread in his side and shoulder.

Forty-two and seventeen respectively. Not so bad. Vox let out a long breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding when he heard Valentino snap the remainder of the thread off.

“Still with me?” Valentino wiped his bloody hands on the soft fabric of the coat.

“For better or for worse, yes.”

“Terrific. Anything I can do for…this?”

The pimp’s claws hovered over the weeping fractures on Vox’s screen. Vox shook his head gently.

“No, it’s fine. It’ll—melt? It’s alive, in a way, the glass. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Valentino lowered his head to peer at the fine web of cracks, eyes narrowed curiously. Vox could feel his hot breath against his screen and his heart thrummed. He could see a hundred Valentinos in his broken eye, staring down at him, through him—so close and not close enough at all. 

“Huh. How about that.” 

The pimp pulled away and Vox ached in a way unrelated to his injury. He stared at the ceiling trying to will his heart to slow down. What was wrong with him? Maybe it was blood loss, his heart naturally beating faster to build clots and staunch the bleeding. Surely that was it—properly scientific and easily explainable. Of course. Naturally.

Valentino pushed to his feet and looked down at Vox.

“Where’s a phone?”

“I’ve got one in my office, up that hallway.” Vox pointed to a narrow hallway just off the back of the set. It wasn’t his main office, of course, but he liked to have a private place to work at all his properties— work meaning drinking whisky, smoking cigars, threatening underperforming employees, and blackmailing enemies, usually.

“Cool.” The pimp stepped in the direction Vox had pointed but Vox tugged on the hem of his pant. The pimp paused mid-step and looked back down at the injured media demon, eyebrows raised.

“Well—don’t go.”

“I gotta call Velvet to bring you a healing salve, unless you wanna lay bleeding on the studio floor all night.” He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. He was right, naturally, but the idea of being alone and bleeding out again made Vox’s stomach roil. 

“I don’t know—you’re here. And the coat is comfy. It’s not too bad.”

“You’re an idiot.” Valentino chuckled. “It’ll take two minutes, tops.”

“Very well. I’ll be counting.” Vox released his grip on Valentino’s leg and watched the pimp leave his field of view. He could hear the pimp’s shoes click down the hall and the slow creak of his office door open, the familiar click-whir click-whirr click-whir of dialing a rotary phone and the rumbling baritone of the pimp’s voice talking into the receiver, although he couldn’t make out words.

Vox brushed the pads of his fingers over the taut, blood-sticky stitches. Demons couldn’t perish unless killed by a divine weapon, which was comforting, but that fact never made wounds hurt any less. He pressed down slightly and his muscles ached from the gentle pressure. The stitches were surprisingly uniform, he noticed, and felt a rush of gratitude that made him roll his eyes at himself. He hated soft feelings like gratitude and hated being obligated even more. He’d have to get something nice for Valentino in repayment—and to get the pimp to keep mum that Vox had made a mistake, although rumor-mongering didn’t seem like Valentino's speed. 

Still.

He heard the sound of footsteps coming back up the hall and soon Valentino was peering down at him, red eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 

“You ain’t passed out yet?”

“There’s my knight in shining armor.”

“If I’m a knight, where’s my kiss for rescuing you?”

Vox’s mind went blank and Valentino laughed.

“I’m kidding. Relax.” The pimp sat back down next to Vox, leaning against the desk and stretching his legs out in front of him. He pulled out a cigarette and held it out expectantly. Vox sighed and raised his hand, sparking an arc between his thumb and forefinger and lighting the tip with a crackling hiss.

“Thank you, my sweet damsel.” Valentino took a long drag and blew out a billowing column of sweet red smoke.

“I ought to fry you.” Vox held up a middle finger, electricity still fizzling around his hand.

“You can do whatever you want to me when you’re back on your feet.” Valentino said coolly, blowing a ring of smoke at the ceiling. “Vel will be here in half an hour. Get some shuteye ‘til then.”

Vox wanted to protest but the words died on his lips as his brain finally registered how heavy and tired he felt. He sighed and closed his eyes. It was quiet with just the buzzing of the lights overhead. The scent of blood, cologne, and smoke filled the air in an unexpectedly comforting way. The emotional part of his mind crept forward again and he was too sleepy this time to quell the thoughts that drifted by of big gentle hands on his skin and how much he liked the sound of a rumbling laugh and sharp red and gold teeth smiling at him.

How pathetic.

Chapter Text

“May we be happy and our enemies know it!”

Their glasses clinked merrily and the three Overlords tossed back the liquor. Valentino grinned and sucked his teeth, savoring the burning flavor of straight cognac. He’d won status as an Overlord, overthrowing the previous occupant of his territory with practiced ease, stacking up bodies like lego bricks and burning his brand into every surface to make his claim clear. Blood still stained his dark claws although he’d changed into fresh clothes. 

This was their fifth toast. Sixth? Vox had lost track. The bottle girls kept bringing him a steady stream of French 75s and whiskeys on the rocks and raspberry gimlets and shots with sultry names he’d never heard of, like Red Headed Slut and Buttery Nipple and Legspreader. His head felt fuzzy and his limbs heavy, like a marionette whose puppeteer was particularly ham-handed. The music pumped loudly through the penthouse and vibrated into his bones and veins, filling him with a happy buzz. 

Parties at Valentino’s penthouse were really no different from the clubs, with the major exception of a ‘Hotties Only’ rule that was mercilessly enforced. Modular furniture had been neatly cleared away to make a dance floor filled with sweat-slick bodies that shimmered under multicolor lights. Giggles and splashes came from the oversized jacuzzi on the balcony as stoned girls in barely-there bikinis canoodled with equally stoned suitors. There were even stripper poles, because of course there were, and partiers were mobbing them, eager for a chance to prove their skill.

The Vees were parked in the sunken living room, girls in skimpy bunny costumes bringing them drinks and food before they ever realized they were running low and partygoers coming to fawn over the new Overlord in a bid to win his favor. Vox had to admit that power looked good on Valentino—it complemented his cool confidence well. Valentino waved away an approaching would-be admirer and poured more champagne in their glasses.

“Yay Val!” Velvet cried, flopping against the soft cushion of the couch. “See, Vox? I was right! It all turned out!”

“You can’t blame me for being cautious.”

“I can and I will.” She said with a smug smile.

Vox and Valentino’s joint business model was exceeding all expectations—they’d hit their benchmark with 7 months to go on the trial period—and Velvet liked to point out that her idea had been a good one, much to Valentino’s amusement and Vox’s chagrin. 

“I told you I knew my shit.” Valentino grinned. Vox made a face.

“I gave you a deal, didn’t I? What do you dummies want from me? Groveling?”

“Prostration is never a bad idea.” Valentino winked.

“You only know that word because it sounds like ‘prostate’.” Vox huffed. Velvet and Valentino laughed.

“Aw, Vox, don’t be a sourpuss! You know we loooove you.” Velvet wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a strangling hug.

“You make it so hard to tell!” Vox wrapped his arm around her neck in a chokehold until she wriggled away with a giggle.

“We can be real obvious about it.” Valentino blew Vox a kiss and Vox looked away, rolling his eyes and feeling his skin heat under his collar. “Oh, Vox, you’re so strong and handsome, is there anything you can’t do?”

“You’re the smartest guy in Hell, Mister Vox, wow! I’m so honored to be your friend!” Velvet slid off the couch and knelt on the floor, hands clasped dramatically as she looked up at Vox and stuck out her tongue. Vox flipped them both off, laughing.

“You two are such shitheads.”

Vox watched Val out of the corner of his eye. Val always had a couple of gussied-up whores in skintight dresses at his side, their hands resting on his chest and lap and faces pressed against his body. It filled his chest with a feeling he couldn’t name. Val’s claws traced mindless patterns on the women’s skin. How lovely that must feel, those sharp claws teasing along skin, drawing up trails of goosebumps. Valentino always smelled like cologne and sweet cigarette smoke, how intoxicatingly strong it would be when pressed against him, burying a face in that luxurious ruff.

Satan, he was so fucking drunk.

Valentino grinned at Vox and rubbed the arm of the pink-skinned girl snuggled into his side. His antennae twitched and Vox looked away, flushing slightly under his collar. Valentino had shared with Vox that his moth form gave him the ability to smell lust, to scent it in the most trace amounts. Vox found it fascinating to see how that little trick could lead the pimp to such success but right now it made him nervous—not that he had anything to hide.

“Hungry, Vox?”

“Fuck off.”

“You want her?”

Not really. But shouldn’t he? Maybe he just needed an outlet for his frustrations. Yes. He was just pent up and the constant barrage of indecency was affecting his thinking and leading his mind astray.

“…Yeah.” 

The girl slid out from under Valentino’s arm like water and took Vox’s hand. He stood and followed her out of the booth, chest starting to bloom with heat as he thought over Valentino thinking about him. The pimp could smell Vox’s interest but had misattributed it. Which was good! Vox wasn’t interested in Valentino himself, he was just fascinated with his sexually liberated nature and the confident, easy way he carried himself. Val was unlike anyone else he’d ever met. 

The bathroom was quiet with just the distant thumping bass bleeding through the walls. Vox was honestly surprised to find it unoccupied. The girl peeled off her latex dress in one smooth motion. She had lovely tits the color of strawberry creme and Vox cupped one, running a thumb over a dark nipple. Their mouths met and she sucked on his tongue eagerly, hiking a broad thigh around his waist. She smelled like flowery perfume and Val’s cigarettes. That sweet smoky smell…Vox grabbed her ass and pulled her tighter, rocking into her as she squeaked with delight. Vox’s claw toyed with her wet cunt and she moaned into his mouth before pulling away.

“How do you want me?” Her voice was breathy, eyes wine-dark and blown out with drugs and lust.

“Just bend over.” 

She put her palms against the sink and spread her legs, tail twitching eagerly. Vox unzipped himself and pushed in. Fuck, she was nice and wet. He sighed and dug his fingers into her meaty hips.

A flowery ‘V’ tattoo on the back of her neck caught his eye. Valentino. It was like a brand, a mark of ownership. Vox wondered if Valentino had fucked her, too, and it gave him a thrill to think they shared some sort of intimacy that way. This girl was puny next to Vox, much less the towering Overlord. How he must have wrecked her! How those many sharp hands must have gripped her tight, bruising her soft skin, long tongue and sharp red teeth trailing over her exposed body, teasing her tits and sucking on her cunt. 

Vox slammed back into the girl without ceremony and she cried out at the merciless pace. Vox imagined Valentino’s cock plunging in and out of her wet heat and the lewd sounds it must have made and the moans it would have pulled from deep within her. It’d be enough to ruin anyone, make them completely addicted to Valentino alone, with his powerful form and velvet voice and smoky scent and masterful manipulation of the body. Heat pooled deep in Vox’s core and his skin bloomed with shivering goosebumps.

He smacked her ass, leaving a dark mark across the skin. She really did have a lovely body, all rounded and soft with curves that shivered and wobbled so fucking right with each thrust. No wonder Valentino kept her close. He probably fucked her daily, she was certainly easy enough to coax into spreading wide, bending over and letting herself be used. 

Would Valentino let himself be bent over like this? The pimp had no reservations about what he wanted and when he wanted it. How did he sound in the thick of it? Did he moan, did he laugh with cocksure confidence and bear down hard, did he wrap his long lovely legs around Vox’s waist and beg him for more, would he suck eagerly on fingers and tell Vox it was okay to come inside—

“Fuck!” Vox snarled, slamming deep into her and pulling her hips back hard as he filled her. She moaned and gushed around him, tits bouncing. She was too easy, Valentino wouldn’t be so easy—

Valentino wouldn’t be anything! Vox had come and the fantasy was over. He chided himself as he pulled out and wiped himself down. Thinking about whatever got him to completion during sex was one thing but it was a moot point after and he didn’t need to entertain such thoughts. He shouldn’t allow his ridiculous fantasies to bleed through. His head burned with shame. Seeing Valentino now, after the thoughts he’d had, the thoughts he’d finished to—he couldn’t. 

“Thanks. Tell Val I’ll catch him at tomorrow’s meeting.” Vox left the girl alone as she cleaned herself out. He slipped nimbly through partygoers and out the front door and down the elevator. As he crossed the parking lot the skin on the back of his neck prickled and he could swear he could feel the heated gaze of red eyes tracking him but didn’t dare look back.

“Going so soon?” Vox stopped at the silky voice from the shadows. He turned and saw Valentino leaned against the wall of the tower, smoke seeping from his mouth with every word.

“I, ah—have some business to take care of.” Brilliant, Vox. Very convincing. Valentino grinned.

“Sure ya do. You do this every time: hang out for a bit, fuck one of my girls, and leave without saying goodbye.” The pimp’s voice was more affectionate than accusing. “Have a smoke with me.”

There was a pause as Vox tried to think of any excuse, face heating with shame. Not only was his little fuck-and-flee habit found out, but the friend inviting him to smoke the same one he’d cum to. God damn it.

“Come on, Voxy, it’s not everyday I get to become an Overlord.”

“Fine.” Vox patted his breast pocket and found it empty. He must’ve smoked the last one at the party.

“Here.” Val held out a slim cigarette in his hand and used another hand to toss his roach to the concrete and pull out another for himself. Vox plucked the cigarette clumsily from the pimp’s fingers, brushing their claws together. A little shiver went up his spine. It was chilly out here. 

He clamped it gently between his teeth and leaned in as Valentino lit a match and held it between the two ends. Vox watched his face, how those ruby eyes narrowed and focused on shielding the little flame from the cool breeze. They had left their coats inside and Vox could feel warmth rolling off the pimp in waves. It made his skin prickle.

The fire caught and Valentino leaned back, taking a long drag. Vox followed slowly, reluctant to relinquish the closeness so soon. Vox pulled in a long breath. It was one of Valentino’s signature cigarettes. It tasted like burnt sugar and cherry grenadine and smelled even headier than usual. Valentino blew out little smoke hearts that dissipated in the cold night air. Vox exhaled a long column. It tasted good.

The front door to the tower opened and three drunk girls stumbled out, teetering on their heels and waving their arms for balance. One girl tumbled to the ground and promptly pissed herself and her friends (a questionable label at best) burst into laughter, doubling over and taking shaky pictures.

“Hell of a party.” Vox murmured, watching the sad show unfold as the pisser crawled across the gravel crying. 

“Apparently so.” 

“Sorry for ditching. I really do have fun at your parties. It’s just…a lot.” Vox trailed off. The parties were nothing, it was his brain that was the issue.

“Don’t be sorry. I just think it’s funny.”

There was a long pause as they took long drags. Vox blew a smoke ring and Valentino blew a smaller one through it and Vox smiled.

“If there’s something makin’ you uncomfortable, I hope you’d tell me. We’re Overlords. Ain’t gotta put up with shit from nobody.”

For a moment, Vox considered telling him exactly why he left after having a whore. His thoughts were still fuzzy at the edges from the alcohol and it felt nice to sit close in the cool night air, smoking the same cigarettes. It felt comfortable and familiar in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—or perhaps ever.

Vox opened his mouth and stuttered for a moment.

“Daddy! Ugh! There you are!” came a shrill voice from their right. They looked over and saw a sway-hipped demon approaching.

“I’ve been looking for you!” His voice was whiny and he pouted his full lips at Valentino, cocking a hip and crossing his arms. Valentino smiled and let out a long drag.

“What is it, baby?”

“You said you’d do body shots and I’ve been waiting FOR-EV-ER.” He said sulkily and looked away with a dramatic toss of his head. Valentino rolled his eyes and stubbed out his cigarette on the cool concrete before standing up.

He looked down at Vox and held out a hand.

“Coming, partner?” Vox’s fingers twitched to take the outstretched hand but he balled his fingers into a fist instead.

“Nah. Gonna finish this and hit the road.” He took another drag of his cigarette to emphasize. Valentino cocked his head, frowning ever so slightly before smiling again.

“Alright. See ya tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Vox watched Valentino and the demon go back across the lot. He hissed and jerked back when the embers singed his skin. He hadn’t been minding the cigarette as it burned down. He sucked at the red spot and caught sight of the door shutting.

It was for the best. Valentino wouldn’t understand the difference between crazed spur of the moment fantasies and genuine desire. The pimp already made enough sly comments, little purring remarks vague enough to be friendly but pointed enough to be flirtatious. Telling Valentino what Vox thought of when he was fucking those women would just add fuel to the fire and Vox didn’t want that. He didn’t want compliments on how sexy he looked in a suit or questions on just what exactly he was able to do with those electric claws or more promises that he was the only one for Valentino, one half of a pair, a match made in Hell, special and inseparable.

He didn’t want any of that.

He ground the fallen cigarette butt into the gravel under his heel and breathed in the lingering scent of Valentino’s cologne.

No, he didn’t want that at all.

Chapter Text

“Where are you, little bird?” Vox mused, surveying the underbrush carefully. He’d dimmed his screen as much as possible so as to not give himself away in the darkness. The forest floor was painted in dappled crimson and inky black shadows. He cocked his head and listened carefully. Even dimmed as he was, he knew the blue glow of his eyes gave his location away to any watching prey.

Damn it. Valentino was sure to find their quarry first. His red eyes matched the skylight and his tall frame blended in with the trees. Vox’s square head was a dead giveaway—but it wasn’t going to stop him from trying. 

A snap to his left.

He closed his eyes and listened closely. Bare feet sneaking through the crackly underbrush, trying to step lightly on the debris-littered forest floor. Vox knelt slowly, removing himself from their line of sight behind a briar patch. He peered through the brambles. The sinner swiveled his head, looking and listening with frightened eyes and strained ears. His chest heaved with shaky, exhausted breaths. They’d been hunting for nearly two hours and he was the last, and he must know it, gauging by the tears streaking through the dirt on his face.

Vox flicked his wrist and a slender cable snaked along the ground, sliding under the dead leaves and fallen branches. The light hissing sound produced by the motion made the sinner jerk his head around, searching desperately for the source, hands gripped into tight fists and sweat beading on his forehead.

“There you are! You’re a quick one.” Vox stood and smiled, teeth bared in a malicious grin as the sinner's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, mouth dropping into a perfect little shocked ‘o’. There was nothing more satisfying than the look of cold dread on the face of trapped prey.

The cables snapped around the sinner’s wrists and ankles and hauled him into the air. He screamed and twisted his body but was held tight. His hands and feet began to flush dark with trapped blood as the cables constricted tighter. Vox stepped out from the underbrush and underneath his suspended prey, smiling.

“Don’t worry, little bird. You’ll feel alright soon.” Vox slung his rifle from off his back and cocked it with a satisfying click. He rested the butt on his shoulder and peered through the sight. A perfect hit to the heart would bleed tremendously.

Bang!

Vox groaned and lowered his gun. A neat hole had been placed dead-center on the sinner's forehead. The sinner slumped and Vox retracted his cables, letting the body fall to the forest floor with a muted thump. Valentino stepped into view on Vox’s left, the barrel of his pistol still smoking. The pimp grinned and reholstered his weapon with a wink.

“Oh, didn’t see ya there. My mistake.” 

“Stealing a kill is un-gentlemanly.” Vox complained, un-cocking the rifle before slinging it back over his shoulder.

“I’m anything but a gentleman, baby.” Valentino replied, clapping Vox on the shoulder as he passed to pick up the corpse. He heaved the sinner over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “You know I can’t resist a sweaty naked man.” 

Red drool gushed from between his teeth as he spoke, dripping down his chin. Fear-scent always made him salivate. His claws dug deep into the meaty thigh of his prize. Vox looked away with a frown. Big sharp claws gripping thighs tight, sinking into the soft flesh and holding tight…now wasn’t the time. He internally chided himself for being so easily distracted and wildly delusional.

“Whatever. Let’s just get back to the lodge.” Vox groused. Usually he could take Valentino’s comments in stride but was feeling particularly sour about losing. He also didn’t want to think about that hot spit going to waste on the forest floor when it could go in his mouth or over his naked skin, slick and warm and delicious.

Satan, what was wrong with him?

“No need to be cranky.” Valentino’s tone was teasing.

“Eat glass.”

“Lick rust.”

“Fall off a bridge.”

“Get murdered.”

“Suck a dick.”

“Sure, you offering?” That made Vox laugh and break the facade. He flipped Valentino off with a grin and the pimp waggled his tongue between two fingers. Vox’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. He turned and led the way back to the lodge with Valentino trailing behind.

They slipped into a lull after that, trudging through the underbrush and over soft, damp earth back to the cabin with just the agonal breathing of the sinner to punctuate the silence. It was refreshing to have a hushed moment after the constant barrage of city living. In celebration of an immensely successful first year as business partners, Vox had arranged a trip to a cabin just outside the city in the jagged Iscariot mountains. They hunted, butchered, drank, smoked, and generally lazed about in ways they couldn’t in their daily lives.

The lodge was resplendent, black ebony shaded crimson under the red sky, and stained glass windows shining from within, gruesome scenes from Revelations casting fractured colors across the cold earth. Valentino threw the sinner onto the pile at the end of the drive. Limbs twitched as bullet wounds healed ever so slowly. A butler opened the carved door as they approached, bowing deeply as they passed. Vox handed off his rifle to be cleaned and placed on the rack.

The interior was warm and smelled of cedar and pecan-smoke. The walls of the parlor were crowded with mounts with too many eyes and skulls with too many mouths glaring haughtily down at the visitors. A fire crackled in the fireplace, although it wasn’t near cold enough to warrant it—even in the mountains, the weather only got cool enough to send an occasional shiver up the spine. Vox longed for winters so frigid he would worry for the safety of his fingers and toes but appreciated the cozy atmosphere of a roaring fire regardless of the weather.

Vox watched Valentino rinse the dried, caked blood from his claws in the wash basin and swallowed thickly. Red was such a lovely color, from the bright splash of fresh blood to the deep crimson of a seeping stain. Valentino looked so lovely in the color, too, and it gladdened Vox’s heart to see the pimp awash in it from the hunt, though he now mourned seeing it drift in the wine-colored water. Wouldn’t it be better to suck the residue off with his mouth?

“Whiskey?” Vox said abruptly, cutting his gaze away and crossing to the bar cart. He poured three fingers for himself with shaky hands.

“Make it cognac.” Valentino said, drying his hands on a towel. Vox popped the lid off the decanter and poured the mahogany-colored spirit into a second glass. He breathed the scent in. He wasn’t a fan of cognac himself, but Valentino drank it almost exclusively, and Vox had come to associate one with the other like Pavlov’s dog drooling at a bell.

He handed the glass of cognac to the pimp and they raised them in a silent toast before taking long sips. Vox sucked down most of his in an attempt to quell the twisting in his gut. Valentino grinned as he watched the media demon sink a hundred dollars’ worth of liquor in one go.

“No one likes a sore loser, Voxy.” The pimp took the empty glass from Vox’s hands and their fingers brushed. Vox rubbed at the tingling skin on his knuckles while the pimp dutifully refilled the glass.

“No one likes a cheater, either.” He retorted, only half-serious.

“You call it cheating, I call it being proactive.” The pimp grinned and winked as he gave the topped-off glass back.

“Agree to disagree.” Vox grinned despite himself. In truth, he really was sort of salty about the stolen kill, but Valentino had a unique way of smoothing over rough patches that Vox found incredibly disarming. 

The swinging door to the dining room swung open with a clatter and the matronly housekeeper looked at them nervously, hands clasped in front of her.

“Dinner is ready.” She said, voice directed at the floor as she bowed. Such a nervous creature, Vox thought amusedly. Perhaps they could play a game with her later.

“Excellent.” Vox said, lifting his glass in acknowledgement. She held open the door and bowed again to usher them through.

The scent of roasted meat and vegetables filled the air as they entered the dining room. The broad teakwood table was set for two, with glasses of scarlet wine and glinting silverware resting on either side of ivory plates. The roast was still steaming on a silver platter between the seating places. Vox perked up slightly seeing it—he’d been quite proud of the ten-point buck he’d bagged the day before, especially considering deer in Hell had teeth like wolves and hides like steel. It hadn’t been the deer he’d really wanted to kill—no, that one was still in the city—but the butchering had been quite fun regardless. The head was to be mounted, the pelt turned into leather for Velvet to use in her designs, and the better cuts of meat for consumption. He’d given the teeth to Valentino to be made into cufflinks for them both.

Valentino sat and took a sip of the wine while Vox cut the roast. The flesh was buttery soft and oozed watery blood that made his mouth water. It cut easily and he placed a hearty portion on the pimp’s plate before serving himself.

“How fancy. I didn’t think this would be so classy, Voxy.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring strippers.” Vox replied with a small smile, seating himself and placing the linen napkin on his lap. Valentino rolled his eyes but laughed good-naturedly.

“It must have slipped my mind. You’ll substitute, won’t you?”

“Not for free.” Vox had gotten better at volleying flirtations back at Valentino, but an increasingly large part of him wanted to know if the pimp was genuine or if it was just his way.

“You tease.” Valentino took a bite of the meat and Vox wondered what it felt like to have those sharp teeth pierce flesh.

“Not really.” Vox paused in his cutting and cocked his head. 

“No wonder you’ve got all those girls chasing after you. Rich and refined? What a catch.”

Vox glowed under the praise but also felt a flush of self-awareness that Valentino had noticed the multitude of beautiful and vapid women that flickered in and out of Vox’s life like fireflies. 

“Don’t forget powerful.” He pointed his fork at Valentino before stabbing another bite.

“I could never. The most powerful Overlord in Pentagram City, the eternal watcher, the king of the screen…and a damn poor shot.” Valentino’s eyes narrowed with delight and it was Vox’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Fuck you, dickhead. How’d you get so good with guns, anyhow?”

“Had some practice on the surface.” Both Overlords tended to be cagey about their lives on the surface out of fear of revealing a weakness that an enemy could exploit, but Vox felt an insatiable urge to press the matter. They’d been working together for a year and had become good friends, and now he wanted to know everything there was to know about the pimp. They were alone here and Vox felt safe and whiskey-warm.

“A gangster?” He prompted. Valentino laughed. 

“The way you say it is so fuckin’ posh. ‘A gangster’? He said, chuckling through an imitation of Vox, emphasizing the - er. “But yeah, some folks called me a gangster—just never got the charges to stick.” Valentino winked and Vox smiled.

“I see. Capone used a 1911 as well, no? It’s a classic, although I was never one for guns myself.”

“I can think of one good shot you made.” Valentino took his last bite of steak and potato before washing it down with wine. Vox raised his eyebrows.

“I’m surprised you know about that. I was under the impression my departure wasn’t front-page news.” The roof of Vox’s mouth throbbed with a dull ache as it always did when he thought about his dramatic exit from the land of the living. No matter how many years passed, the ache lingered on as a reminder of his sins.

“It wasn’t, but my ma was a big fan of your show. Thought you were real handsome. Had a conniption when you were arrested and had to lay down in the dark for two days when you offed yourself.”

“She thought I was handsome?” Vox leaned forward with a mischievous grin. Valentino pointed his knife at Vox and narrowed his eyes.

“Stay away from my ma.”

“I’m gonna fuck your mom.”

“If you so much as look at that sweet woman, I’ll rip your dick off.”

Vox snorted.

“She can’t be that sweet. She’s in Hell.”

Valentino laughed.

“I won’t argue that. She’s got a mean right hook.” The butler came and took their empty plates away wordlessly. Valentino picked up the remainder of his cognac and leaned back in the chair, fixing Vox with an inscrutable gaze. The atmosphere settled into something less biting than they usually carried, something a bit warmer and quieter. A moth or two fluttered in Vox’s gut.

“How curious to think we coexisted, even for a short while.” Vox said thoughtfully, tracing the rim of his whiskey glass with a claw. “Do you reckon we would have been friends?” Part of Vox was disgusted at how sentimental he was feeling but another part wanted so much to connect with Valentino in this quiet moment alone.

“Hell no.” Valentino laughed. Vox suppressed a flicker of hurt. It was an honest answer and probably true, but it still stung like pricking your finger on a hidden thorn.

“No?”

“Nah. We weren’t even on the same coast. I shared a house with nine people in Fishtown and you lived in a mansion in Hollywood. I’da thought you were an easy mark and you woulda thought I was a scum-suckin’ lowlife.”

“How fortunate that we met here, then.” Vox let a drop of affection creep into his tone. Valentino smiled and the genuineness of it cut to Vox’s rotted core. 

“Mhm. Let’s count our lucky stars that we met here, hey? Right things at the right times, or whatever the fuck.” The pimp lifted his glass aloft. Vox picked up his nearly-empty whiskey glass and the two demons tipped the rims together with a quiet, crystalline sound. Vox watched Valentino as the pimp took a long drink.

He really was glad to have Valentino as a friend and partner—Velvet was a wonderful friend, of course, but tended towards chaos where Vox preferred order and often chose violence when a threat would suffice. Valentino straddled a middle line between them, cool and collected but prone to bouts of rage—it was close enough to Vox’s own nature that he found the pimp easy to work with but far enough removed that he was still interesting.

“Good meal, Vox. Ain’t no burger, though.” Valentino said with a grin after finishing his wine.

“How dare you compare this superb roast to low-grade ground beef.”

“That low-grade ground beef is pretty fuckin’ good.”

“…it is.” Vox grumbled, suppressing a smile. Valentino scooted his chair back and stood, giving Vox a dramatic bow.

“I’m gonna shower. Pick a movie, I’ll be down soon.” The pimp swept out of the room, leaving Vox to stare at the dregs of whiskey at the bottom of his glass.

He could smell the loamy scent of the forest lingering on his clothes. He would need to bathe soon as well. How many bathrooms did this cabin have? How much hot water? A wicked part of his brain wondered if he should offer to share a shower, to preserve hot water, and see all that lovely bloodstained skin on display, run his hands over taut muscle under the guise of looking for scrapes and bruises sustained during the hunt. The thought of big hands running over his body and the rumbling, appreciative purr of a pleased pimp made his heart thrum. He heard the spigot turn on and the sound of water thundered overheard. How easy it would be, just to go up the stairs… 

Vox reached over and grabbed the wine bottle by the neck and took a big swig, hoping to silence whatever part of his mind made him think such absurd thoughts. 

Chapter Text

It was days like this that made Vox wish he had a nose to pinch the bridge of or temples to massage. That stupid fucking idiot snake had leveled one of the factories in a show of power and destroyed two thousand pallets of films awaiting shipment. It was going to be a fucking pain in the ass to rebuild the factory and they’d have to answer for order fulfillment delays. He wanted Valentino’s input on how to recoup but the pimp wasn’t picking up the phone which was fucking annoying because the pimp was always near the phone. He had them in his limos, for Satan’s sake. Vox had barraged his pager as well but still nothing.

He’d better be fucking dead to not answer like this.

Vox dropped the phone back into its cradle with an irritated sigh. He eyed the television set across his office—at 25 inches, it was the largest model thus far despite his best efforts to outpace progress on the surface world, but it was in color, which always got oohs and ahhs. He drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking about where in Hell Valentino could possibly be that he wouldn’t pick up the goddamn phone. It wasn’t quite nightfall, so Valentino would still be at the studios and not the club circuit yet. This meant his office, where the phone was on his desk, or the sets, where his secretary would find him and tell him about his very important missed call. 

Vox stood and placed a palm to the television screen. It was warm and buzzy under his skin. Shimmying through the sets was a pain but it was the fastest mode of travel available. He took a deep breath and plunged his fingers through the glass, which rippled like water under his touch. He could feel the electric currents ripping past and cocked his head as he looked for the right one. The studio…the penthouse. Even if the penthouse was empty he could help himself to a stiff drink before resuming his search.

His skin crackled with electricity and he hissed before dissipating into a staticky cloud and was sucked through the screen. When his vision returned he was standing dumbly in Valentino’s living room, arms akimbo and vision swimming. He cracked his knuckles and shook his head to chase away the stars. Television travel always gave him pins and needles in the most unpleasant way. He cocked his head, listening for signs of life.

He got one.

Well, two.

He followed the muted little slippery sounds and quiet gasps down the hall until he stood outside the bedroom door, hand hovering over the knob. In truth, he knew what to expect and he simultaneously did and did not want to see it. Irritation, disgust, and a thorn of jealousy struggled for dominance in his brain. Really, whatever, right? Sex was sex and it wasn’t like Vox was some sort of prude.

He opened the door and froze at the sight.

A green-skinned demoness was on her back on the massive bed, long hair fanned around her head as she gripped the sheets in her claws and rolled her hips. Valentino was between her legs, long tongue lapping fervently at her cunt and big hands holding her thighs open. Belatedly, Vox recognized the demoness as Jade Dove, one of their most popular film stars. He’d seen her naked a thousand times but this was different, somehow—maybe her acting wasn’t as good as they thought, because she seemed a great deal more animated at present.

The air was filled with her stuttered gasps and the wet sound of Valentino’s mouth sucking on her clit and fingers sliding in and out of her dripping pussy. Sharp claws flicked over her pebbled nipples and sank into the soft flesh of her breasts. She writhed, begging in a breathy voice for more, please. Valentino’s antennae twitched and he pulled out from between her soft thighs and fixed Vox with a stare, licking at the glossy slick around his mouth.

“Get in or get out.”

Vox shut the door behind him. His fingers trembled as he pulled off his jacket, dropping it to the ground in a crumpled heap. Butterflies—moths?—rocketed around his gut. He undressed clumsily, unable to pull his gaze away from the bed for long. Jade wrapped her thighs around Valentino’s head as he returned to his task and arched her back in such a lovely way, breasts heaving with each gasping breath of pleasure. Vox stumbled as he shucked his pants and boxers, eyes fixed on what awaited him.

Jade clutched the sheets in tight fists as she came with a pitchy moan, rolling her hips into Valentino’s mouth to grind out aftershocks. Vox slid onto the bed as gently as he could, stomach flipping with excitement. Valentino leaned up and caught him in a kiss. It felt like dying, again, but good, like electricity consuming every atom of his being. Valentino tasted good and he felt good as the pimp pulled Vox closer, big hands resting on the media demon's hips and making his skin burn with a splendid fire. Vox wrapped his arms around the pimp’s neck, claws carding through that soft ruff.

He jumped slightly when hands slid up his back, reminding him of the third player with them. She put her head on his shoulder, reaching around to toy with his chest as he sighed into Valentino’s kiss. The pimp chuckled and pulled away, letting Jade suck his long tongue into her mouth. Vox slid down and found his head caught between their chests, her soft breasts and Val’s pectorals trapping his head in a divine vice. He ran his hands over Val’s hips, savoring the hot smooth skin before pulling his hands away like he’d been burned. That wasn’t right.

He couldn’t even think straight, his mind was filled with the sensation of being trapped between two warm bodies, sweat-slicked skin sliding together, hands running over his chest and hips, warm mouths and hot tongues lathing over him, the delicious pressure of being trapped and wanting to be trapped.

Jade wrapped a hand around Vox’s cock and pumped a couple times, giggling as he took little encouragement. She kissed his shoulder and moved to his side before gently pushing him down onto his back. Valentino and Jade settled on either side of Vox’s waist and synchronously leaned down and licked hot stripes up his cock. Vox moaned at the sight of it, skin breaking out in goosebumps as their hot tongues lathed up his length. They were so hot—well, Jade was so hot, wasn’t she, her lovely full lips and even fuller ass in the air? 

Their eyes flicked up to Vox, who’s blush had burned all the way down his chest, tinting his dark skin cobalt blue, and looked back at each other and laughed. Vox moaned at the vibrations of their laughing mouths and again when Valentino pulled away allowing Jade to swallow him down to the hilt. Vox dug his claws into the sheets and tried not to buck up into her throat (although he was sure she could more than handle it). She bobbed her head in short strokes, tongue tracing down the vein bulging down the side.

“You shoulda told me you were gonna stop by.” Valentino purred, dragging his claws ever so slightly up Vox’s stomach and pressing a kiss to his hip. 

“I wasn’t planning—I was looking for you, I’ve been—calling?” Vox’s response was strangled as he suppressed moans to get the words out. Valentino chuckled low in his throat. Jade sucked in her cheeks and dragged back up Vox’s cock slowly.

“Oh, that’s who that was. Sorry, I was busy.” 

Jade slid her mouth off Vox and licked up the dribbling saliva running down the length of it. She suckled at the tip, lapping up salty precum at the tip. Valentino kissed his shoulder, leaving a wet mark that burned right through to the bone. The pimp watched Jade with a pleased expression and Vox watched him in turn, trying desperately to process how fast this had happened. It shouldn’t have surprised him—not Valentino ignoring business for a day-long fuckfest nor Vox being invited instead of turned away. 

Valentino’s broad chest was hairier than Vox had thought, and he’d gotten plenty of glimpses with the low vee-neck shirts and pointedly unbuttoned button downs the pimp preferred. It was all white, like his ruff save the red hearts and he wondered if it would feel soft or rough against his lips and under his tongue as he licked and kissed across the skin.

“Fuck!” Vox snarled, hips jerking involuntarily. Damn it all, one of Hell’s hottest porn stars was sucking his dick and he was thinking about a man? 

Jade popped her mouth off Vox, long strings of saliva hanging between her lips and his cock. She smiled at him wickedly and wiggled her ass, gaze flicking to Valentino as she licked her spit-shiny lips. Valentino’s antennae twitched in Vox’s periphery and Jade crawled down to rest at Vox’s feet, legs spread wide. She ran her fingers through her wet folds and looked at him through hooded eyes. Vox could see hickeys and bruising bite marks peppered along the inside of her thighs—Valentino’s handiwork, doubtlessly, and he was seized by an urge to lathe his tongue over the spots and see if he could still taste Valentino there.

“How do you want me?” She purred. Vox sat up, heart racing and cock achingly hard. He glanced at Valentino, who smiled broadly.

“She’s all yours, baby.” The pimp purred.

Vox lunged for her, knocking her to her back. She shrieked with delight at the rough treatment and he heard Valentino chuckle behind him. He couldn’t spare a thought to being embarrassed. His skin was burning up and his mind was somehow both empty and racing. He needed more, more of Jade, more of Valentino, more of anything he could get. He bent down and took one of Jade’s nipples in his mouth, biting with his sharp teeth until she bucked and whined. Her hands clawed at his back and he pushed inside with a ragged groan.

Fuck, she was so warm and tight, lovely thighs squeezing his hips, tits bouncing with each slow thrust, full lips parted in a cute little moan. Big hands slid over his shoulders and down his chest and he shuddered as Valentino’s chest pressed into his back.

“Nice little body you’ve got under that suit.” Valentino purred, resting his head on Vox’s shoulder. A bolt of electric delight tore down his spine at the comment. He turned his head and Valentino leaned in and caught his mouth again, tongues sliding past each other hungrily. Vox palmed one of Jade’s tits in a hand and she brought his other to her mouth to suck on his fingers, moaning around the digits. Val reached down and held her hips in place for Vox.

Vox panted against Valentino’s mouth, overwhelmed. As the pimp pressed close, Vox shivered when he felt Valentino’s cock brush against his hip, hot and heavy. Vox hadn’t even seen it properly, like an idiot, and he knew Valentino had piercings because he’d mentioned them and he’d missed it in the madness, god damn it all, and he was doing it again, thinking about Valentino instead of the lovely woman with her legs spread wide. 

Whatever. Fuck it. He could finish again to what he shouldn’t think about but this was the last time. His last little fantasy.

His throat constricted as Valentino’s skin met his own in an erratic pattern as he thrust. He wanted more of that pressure, more sweaty skin pressed against him, but couldn’t—wouldn’t—say it. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought his hands to Jade’s supple hips, claws overlaying Valentino’s and digging in deep for purchase. How would it be to have the hard planes of the pimp’s body underneath him, rocking and gyrating eagerly? Or for Vox to be on his back, pinned down, Valentino having his way as he had with Jade earlier? Such a clever mouth, all sharp teeth and long, wet tongue lapping and sucking relentlessly. 

Vox moaned as Jade clenched down around him as she approached her climax. She was so velvety soft—would Valentino feel the same? Would he be just as tight, just as willing and warm? Yes, of course yes, because the pimp was a nasty fuck and if Vox asked he’d probably ride him no questions asked, thighs quivering and mouth open and drooling hot saliva onto Vox’s chest. What a sight that would be, and Vox would suck dark hickeys across all that lovely skin to mark it as his, and the scent of Valentino’s cologne would stick to him for hours, shit, fuck, it was so wrong but it made him so hot and hard and fuck—

Vox came with a low, keening groan as he released inside Jade. She squeezed her legs tight around him and arched her back as she followed, throwing her head back and moaning. Vox shivered when Valentino trailed kisses up his back. His core still felt warm but the cold realization of the situation he was in started to creep back through the clouds of pleasure. He tried to steady his breathing as he came down from his orgasm. How exactly did one exit a threesome with grace? His dignity was out the window already but it wouldn’t stop him from clutching the ragged tatters of it to his chest in a desperate bid for control. 

“I have to piss.” He said quickly, sliding clumsily off the bed. He snagged his discarded clothes as he went in hurried strides toward the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he sighed and planted his hands on the cool marble counter. He needed to get dressed and get out of here. 

But Valentino was between him and the door. God damn it. The pimp wouldn’t let him just slip away like the whores did. Vox frowned at himself in the mirror. He hated feeling like this—awkward and out of control. It was exhausting, this constant fighting with himself. He grabbed a washcloth and gave himself a quick whore’s bath before pulling the layers of his suit back on. 

When he emerged, Valentino was in a red robe and Jade was under the silk sheets, scrolling through her phone. Valentino stepped toward Vox and placed a hand on the media demon’s shoulder. Vox’s stomach did a flip.

“Now, what did you come all this way to talk about?” The pimp asked. Vox’s gaze flickered to Valentino’s chest and then to the door.

“There’s been an incident at the factory in South End. We lost pallets of tomorrow’s shipment.” Vox’s voice was a robotic croak. Hold it together.

“We can talk it over in the bath.” Valentino suggested with a purr. 

Yes. Soapy bodies gliding together, warm water lapping at deliciously exposed skin—

“No, it’s not that urgent.”

“It was urgent enough to ring the phone off the hook and show up uninvited.” Valentino raised an eyebrow.

Uninvited. That stung, although it was true. Vox should be flattered he’d been allowed to join at all, he knew, but the little word sliced deep. To add insult to injury, the pimp had pinned him in a lie—Vox did need to talk to Valentino urgently about the disaster but all things business had melted from his mind since he’d walked in.

“Well—“

“You’re such a drama queen. I’ll call you later.” Valentino rolled his eyes and slipped past Vox into the bathroom. Vox heard the bath spigot squeak on and fled while his friend was occupied.

Friend? Business partner?

More? Less?

Whatever Valentino was.

Chapter Text

The crystal glass was cool against Vox’s hand. He sat slumped low in the chair of the panopticon, gaze flickering across the hundreds of screens to watch the citizens of Pentagram City go about their days, ignorant to their own surveillance. Drunken bar fights, clandestine drug deals, torrid affairs, high-stakes gambling, gladiatorial bouts for glory in the arena—all of it infinitely interesting but not enough to scrub his mind of thoughts of Valentino. 

Big, strong hands running across his body, the taste of smoke and booze as their tongues slid together.

Vox polished off his brandy in one long gulp.

Usually he could clear his head with some good blackmail gathering but all his usual methods of distraction were failing. This obsession…when had it grown so much? Why couldn’t he stamp it out? Usually it was others that were taken with him, not the other way around. Valentino was funny and pretty and wicked and powerful, but so were many other men Vox had known, so what made this man so exceptional? Where was the line between friendly admiration and romantic—even sexual—intent?

The phone rang and Vox’s heart soared and plummeted at the thought of speaking to his partner. He’d been waiting hours to hear from Val and now that he was about to, his stomach curdled. He clicked the speakerphone button and mustered up the calmest voice he could.

“Vox.” 

“I spoke to Wanda and she filled me in.” Valentino never bothered with a greeting. “The master tapes are stored in the vault at the studio. We can just have the lost units re-printed at the South Brimstone factory. Assign some imps to work overnight. Easy.” 

“Great. I’ll get started on it,” Vox replied. Why didn’t Valentino feel weird and strange like Vox did? No lingering thoughts, no desire for just a little more?

“Is that all you wanted earlier? Seems solvable enough to me.”

Vox stayed silent as his throat worked, trying to come up with a response and failing. It was a simple solution, painfully so, and it was embarrassing to not have put it into motion already himself. He hadn’t really needed Valentino’s input.

“Or did you just want my attention?” Valentino’s voice took on a crooning tone and Vox’s stomach constricted.

“Don’t be an ass. I wanted your input because that’s how partnerships work.” Vox lied.

“All you have to do is ask, ya know. I’m very accommodating.” The pimp’s voice had that flirtatious edge Vox had heard a million times in passing as Valentino manipulated underlings but now it struck too deep. Vox knew very well how accommodating the pimp could be, how lovely and warm, and he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Hold the next tapes until we get this sorted—I don’t want new films to get mixed up with the reprints,” Vox replied in a clipped tone, trying to refocus the conversation off himself. He pressed a couple buttons on the console and the wall of screens was filled with a single image of Valentino at the club, lounging outside with his posse, phone pressed to his ear and smiling. Seeing his partner so casually jovial made Vox’s mind flicker with irritation. 

“Are you upset? You were weird earlier. Was it because of me?” The question was less teasing and more genuinely inquisitive. Vox was glad Valentino couldn’t see him as his face began to burn hot at the memory.

“No.”

“Listen, Vox,” Valentino’s voice turned soft and serious. “Not putting your dick in a man didn’t save you from Hell, so you might as well embrace it.”

“Must you be so vulgar?” Vox snapped.

“I’m just sayin’, babe.” 

“Don’t call me that.” Vox’s throat was tight. He caught Valentino studying the very camera he was looking through, expression thoughtful. The shadow of compassion he saw in the pimp’s face filled him with a panicky defensiveness. His pride was bruising fast and fresh and painful.

“I don’t need your pity, Valentino.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy!” Vox shouted. The following silence was deafening. Valentino blew out a column of smoke and cocked his head at the camera.

“Got it.”

“Fuck you.” Vox slammed his fist down on the receiver, ending the call with a crackle of electricity bursting from between his fingers. The screens fizzled to black. The darkness was only lit by the red recording lights, the web of luminescent blue cables, and, of course, his own miserable glowing face. He frowned into the semi-darkness. How god damn bold of Valentino to assert that Vox didn’t know himself. Vox was decades older than the pimp, more worldly and wise—and to put himself at the forefront of Vox’s affections: Ridiculous. Arrogant. Wrong. 

His skin was hot with anger and stomach twisted with something he couldn’t name. He huffed into the darkness, eyes narrowed on the screen where Valentino’s image had been. He had an urge to turn it back on to see if the pimp was as put out as he was but couldn’t bring himself to in case Valentino was perfectly fine and didn’t mind Vox’s suffering nearly as much as Vox hoped he would. 

Whatever.

Shithead.

An alarm shrieked into the quiet dim and his head snapped to look at it. He tapped a button on the armrest and the wall of screens were once more filled with live feed. It was the busy avenue on the southernmost portion of his territory. He peered closely at the image and grinned. 

A familiar face—well, sort of—prowled the avenue, eyes glued to his vPhone. The disc-headed music demon, Sequence, had challenged Vox for territory before but had never been successful for too long. After his last thorough whipping, Sequence had agreed to stay out of Vox’s city sector unless directly contracted for his services (he made very good dance music). Vox hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the demon in ages but it appeared that time had made the Overlord-wannabe’s memory rusty.

Given his relaxed body language and focus on his phone, the overstep was probably an accident and the music demon hadn’t even realized. Accidents happen, Vox knew, but he also knew that a behavior will continue as long as it is successful. Even an innocuous trip into his part of the city would give other would-be ursurpers the impression that Vox didn’t care.

He cared very much.

And had a lot of frustration to work out at the moment.

Time to make a martyr.

-x-

“Hello, Seq. I didn’t have you penciled in for today.” Vox said, sliding out from the shadows. The music demon was leant against a wall, texting, head bobbing to a tune no one else could hear. His singular eye snapped to the Overlord, pupil narrowing to a nervous slit.

“What?” Sequence whipped his head to peer at the street sign. “Oh, god damn it.” 

The music demon pushed off the wall and went to stand just off the curb in the street, hands spread apart pleadingly.

“My bad, dude. I’m not trying anything. Just meeting a friend.” Sequence said. His calm demeanor was belied by his vinyl head, which was spinning madly around his eye. 

“I would have hoped your last lesson on boundaries was sufficient.” Vox replied. He held out his hand and cables writhed from his shirt sleeve to form a slender black blade. 

“C’mon, man.” Sequence took another step back into the street, cars swerving on squealing wheels and with screeching horns to avoid him. “That was twelve years ago. Don’t I deserve a pass for good behavior?”

“I’d hate for you to set a bad example for your peers.” Vox sneered. He took another step forward and squeezed his fingers around the hilt. The great thing about Sequence was how satisfying it was to shatter his delicate little head.

“Man, fuck you. You can’t just go around beating people up for nothing.” Sequence snapped, retreating another step. 

“I can do whatever I fucking want!” Vox snarled. He lunged forward, swinging the sword in a harsh arc. Sequence stumbled back to avoid it and his body thumped against a speeding car and the air was filled with a crack as a large portion of his head snapped off and was crushed under the speeding wheels. 

“It’s my fucking city!” Vox’s voice jumped an octave, voice scraping against a glitchy register. “No one tells me what to fucking do!” 

As Vox raged, he continued forward and Sequence scrambled backwards in clumsy spurts, broken head continuing to whirl as cars swerved to avoid the Overlord and his prey. Cables snapped up from underneath the concrete and pinned the music demon to the ground. He thrashed but the cables pulled tighter as Vox approached.

Vox put his foot on Sequence’s heaving chest and pressed down until he heard the sternum crack. He leveled the sword at the music demon’s neck, tip just barely hovering over a throbbing jugular.

“It’s my fucking city,” he hissed, voice tremulous with anger. “I do what I want, I kill who I want, I take what I want and Satan help any fool who stands in my way.” With that, Vox wrapped both hands around the hilt, drew back, and plunged the blade through Sequence’s exposed neck and deep into the concrete. 

As he watched the demon writhe as blood poured from around the blade, Vox clenched his fists tight. The gall of that mewling coward to question him. With the exception of Lucifer’s lordly title, Vox was the king of this god-forsaken city and he could do as he saw fit. 

I do what I want, he thought. His gaze drifted from the blood pooling on the concrete to the round studio tower in the distance.

I do what I want.

-x-

“What.” Valentino’s voice was crackly and flat as he opened the door, eyes staring out blearily at Vox. He’d clearly just gotten home right before Vox arrived, still smelling of cigarettes and booze and cheap stripper perfume and wearing just a pair of boxers. Vox could see his signature coat crumpled in a heap on the living room floor inside.

“I—“ Vox began. Valentino pulled the door all the way open and stepped back into the penthouse, leaving Vox to follow him in. 

“Whatever. Get inside first,” came the raspy response. Vox closed his mouth and did as he was told, closing the door behind him as he entered. The pimp leaned on the counter and tossed back a waiting shot of clear spirits. Vox leaned on the counter opposite and raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you just get back?”

“Hair of the dog. What do you want?” Valentino shrugged and tossed the empty glass into the sink, where it clattered against the metal before resting on the bottom. Vox eyed it for a moment before looking back at the pimp.

“Sorry for yelling earlier,” Vox said.

There was a long, tense pause.

“That’s all?” Valentino’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “I thought you came here to kill me. You were real pissed earlier.”

“If I was angry enough to kill you, I wouldn’t have waited to come inside.” He wiggled his fingers and electric blue sparks danced through the air around his hand. Valentino’s smile widened into the pimp’s signature face-splitting, shit-eating grin.

“Then what did you wait for?”

Vox pulled him in for a kiss by the lapels. It was as delicious as it had been the first time with Jade, electric and consuming. They stumbled into the living room and fell onto the couch and Valentino straddled Vox’s waist with those long lovely legs. Big strong hands wrapped around Vox’s shoulders and he leaned into the touch, whining slightly, nearly weeping from how good it felt and how much he wanted it.

Wanted it. 

He wanted it so much and he’d been denying it for so long and it made his heart ache with regret because it felt so fucking good. Why had he waited? This wasn’t the surface world. He wouldn’t be lambasted by the press and condemned by the religious for chasing what he wanted. And even if he was—there wasn’t anyone he couldn’t turn into a smear on the sidewalk.

Valentino pulled away and rucked Vox’s shirt up and started kissing down his chest, leaving hot wet marks on his skin as he worked his way down. A hot tongue lathed over his nipples and he arched into the sensation with a whine. He was already straining against his pants. Valentino licked up the pale length of the scar running down Vox’s side before biting at it gently, sharp teeth worrying the skin.

Deft fingers undid Vox’s pants and the pimp’s mouth burned a trail down to the hem of his underwear as his claws hooked under the waistband and started to pull down. Hot drool dripped onto Vox’s skin as Valentino’s mouth drew closer to his cock. Vox wrapped his fingers around the pimp’s intact antennae and yanked up. Valentino hissed but pulled back up to glower down at the media demon, lips pulled back in an animalistic snarl.

“No.” Vox said. “Get naked.” Part of him couldn’t believe he was turning down a blowjob from Valentino but a larger part of him wanted inside the pimp so bad he’d kill a thousand demons to make it happen right fucking now. 

Valentino rolled his eyes and rocked his hips against Vox’s and they both sighed at the friction.

“Aw, but you’re still dressed. That’s no fun.” Valentino ran his hands up Vox’s torso and started on the vest and shirt buttons. 

Vox reached up and cradled Valentino’s face in his palms as the moth demon furiously unbuttoned. He used his thumbs to push back the pimp’s lips to reveal sharp teeth and ran the pad of a thumb across the golden canine that always caught his eye. Valentino flicked out his tongue at the thumb dragging across his teeth and smiled.

“Can’t tell you how much I think about these,” Vox murmured. He pressed a thumb tip to the needle-sharp point of a tooth and relished the gentle pressure threatening to puncture his skin.

Valentino shifted his head and gently clamped Vox’s thumbs between his teeth before lapping at them with his tongue and pulling away.

“Wait til you see the rest of me,” the pimp purred. Valentino’s two other hands wrapped around Vox’s shoulders and pulled him in for another kiss so the pimp could push off the jacket, vest, and shirt in one swift motion. Their chests pressed together and Vox clenched a fist in Valentinos soft ruff, savoring the softness of the pimp’s fur on his hot skin. Their tongues slid together in a languid swirl, long strings of spit hanging down between them. 

“Where’s your lube?” Vox breathed. He tugged the pimp’s boxers down (why they were even still on, he couldn’t fathom) and greedily cupped Valentino’s ass in his free hand. The friction of their cocks brushing together as Valentino rocked against his fingers was driving him completely insane. The pimp shoved a hand between the couch cushions and pulled out a small, partially-full bottle and shoved it into Vox’s hand.

Vox popped the cap with a thumb and poured it onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the cool substance before pressing his hand against Valentino’s entrance and smearing tacky lube across it. Valentino hummed happily and pulled Vox’s straining cock out of his pants.

“Ooh, someone’s been doing his research,” Valentino purred, slowly stroking Vox with a hand. “Have you been watching porn, you dirty fuck?”

A wave of heat surged across Vox’s skin and he shoved his other fingers into the pimp’s laughing mouth. Val gently bit down on the knuckles and grabbed Vox’s wrist, pulling the media demon's hand away with a wet slurp. He pressed back against Vox’s hand at his entrance and grinned down at the Overlord.

“Poor Vox, watching gay porn at my studio and pretending he doesn’t care.” Valentino crooned, voice hitching when Vox slid a finger in and crooked it just right. 

“You’re an ass.” Vox growled. He pumped his finger in and out with a little less care than he should have employed, but the pimp didn’t seem to mind—the opposite was true, Valentino seemed to relish the rough treatment. He clenched down tight around Vox as he rocked his hips back, grinning toothily.

“I can leave if you’re so upset.” 

Vox shoved his fingers in deeper in a rough, uneven rhythm and took delight in how it made the moth demon move his hips, cock bobbing in the air. Drool dripped from between the pimp’s sharp teeth and dribbled down his chin in sticky strands.

“Absolutely not.” Vox’s deadpan reply made the pimp laugh in between happy sighs. As Vox pushed a second finger in, a rumbling purr rolled up from the pimp’s throat. His mouth parted in a grin and saliva dripped onto Vox’s skin as Valentino’s eyes glazed over. Vox kissed up Valentino’s chest, savoring the taste of sweat starting to bloom.

“Satan, just fuck me already.” Valentino grunted. He leaned forward, pressing their bodies together. “How do you want me?”

“Hands and knees.” Vox replied quickly. Valentino laughed and slid off his lap, finally shucking off his boxers. Vox stood shoved his own pants and boxers to the ground.

“Pretty boy.” Valentino said affectionately, running a hand across Vox’s lower back. Vox’s skin broke into goosebumps and his screen heated.

“Shut up and get down.”

“Yessir.” Valentino lowered himself onto the couch, resting on his knees and folding his foremost set of arms underneath his head with the other set braced at his side. 

Vox placed his hands on the pimp’s hips and paused to take in the sight. Overlord Valentino, pimp king of pornography, on his hands and knees, open and ready for him. It made his skin crackle with electricity to see it and he took a mental picture—a literal one, he had cameras in his head—and dug his fingers deeper when the pimp looked over his shoulder to peer at him.

“C’mon, Voxy. Give it to me like you give it to my girls.” The pimp purred.

Vox needed no further invitation. He quickly slicked himself up with the remainder of the lube and aligned himself before pushing in. Vox moaned and Valentino hummed. The pimp felt like hot silk around him, tight and hungry. It felt like Valentino was sucking him in and Vox was only too willing to oblige. 

Vox shuddered when he bottomed out and Valentino whined when he pulled back out in a slow stroke. Vox petted a hand up the pimp’s back, wrapping his fingers in the ruff in a tight fist. He slammed back into Valentino with a quick snap of his hips, earning him another delicious noise. 

“You’re so fucking tight.” He hissed, starting to thrust in a more even rhythm. Valentino just grunted in response, arching his back and rocking back into Vox with each thrust. 

Vox’s whole body was boiling hot with desire and need. He used one hand to yank on Valentino’s ruff and another hand on his hip to slam the pimp back onto him, filling the air with the lewd sound of skin slapping together and quiet, desperate moans. This was what he wanted—something new, something balanced where the other party wasn’t some simpering peasant but someone who was his equal. Valentino fit the bill of what Vox had been looking for for so long and he finally had him.

“Harder, Vox,” Valentino groaned, voice ragged. Hearing Valentino say his name with such raw lust sent a shock through Vox’s body and he thrust harder, yanking painfully on the pimp’s ruff and feeling blood under the claws on the pimp’s hip. He could hear Valentino’s breath be punched out in time to the rhythm and it set his heart alight.

Valentino squeezed down around Vox with each harsh stroke and Vox could see his pucker dragging along his length, reluctant to let him pull out. Valentino was tight and hot and his, on his knees and enjoying himself, enjoying Vox, and it was good. Vox snapped his hips faster, pleasure building in his core with every passing second. He dug his claws into Valentino’s hip, drawing blood, and snarled wordlessly, unable to express his insane need with words.

“Give it to me, baby,” breathed Valentino. The pimp pushed back hard and Vox slammed into him so hard he was sure there would be bruises—not that he would mind seeing the pimp’s skin dappled with lovely dark spots.

“Fuck!” A bolt of electricity raced down Vox’s spine and struck his core and he pulled Valentino flush against him as he came, panting and leaning over the pimp’s broad back. He felt Valentino’s body shudder underneath him as the pimp followed suite, clenching and trembling around Vox and shredding the couch underneath his claws.

They sat for a moment, panting and sweaty, before Vox reluctantly pulled away. He watched his cum slowly start to ooze out of Valentino and swiped a thumb through the leaking mess. Valentino twitched and sighed contentedly as Vox toyed with his abused hole. He peered back at the media demon, pushing up to sit on his ankles.

“Well?” Valentino prompted.

“Can’t wait for next time.” 

“Don’t gotta wait.” Valentino sucked on the tip of his finger and dragged it up Vox’s length, tracing a vein with a sharp, shiny claw. A warm sensation melted up Vox’s groin and he watched as his cock grew hard again. 

“All better.” Valentino grinned.

“That’s a neat trick.”

“I’ve got a bunch of tricks up my sleeve. Ready to go again, big daddy?”

Vox answered by pulling Valentino down into another hungry kiss.

-x-

They rarely pulled apart that night. Vox drank down each moan and laugh from the pimp’s mouth like it was the sweetest wine. His body ached for it, to hear those hums and groans, body quaking with need and desire. It would never be enough—how could it be, after all the time he’d wasted?

They moved around the house with each round like it was a game to see how many spots they could desecrate with their union. Vox was delighted—but not surprised—to find there wasn’t a single place nor position the pimp would turn his nose up at. Time slipped by in the blur as they staked their claims to each other’s bodies and by the time they reached an actual bed, Vox was wrung out but content. 

Vox laid on his back, sweat-damp skin sticky against the cool silk sheets. Valentino rested his head on the media demon’s stomach, appearing much less affected by the exertion. Vox could see the pimp firing off texts to his workers and underlings. His eyes narrowed when he saw a particularly euphemism-laden text get sent to someone named Blade.

Vox wrapped his fingers around Valentino’s intact antennae and brought their faces close, fingers buzzing ever so slightly with the threat of electricity.

“You're mine.” He growled. Knowing how good it was and how promiscuous Valentino could be, it made him sick with rage to think of anyone else fucking the pimp like this.

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Valentino purred with a playful smile, eyes narrowing.

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” The tension was thick as both Overlords refused to compromise their position.

“You’re being ridiculous.“ Valentino brought Vox’s other hand from his hip to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. “You know damn well neither one of us is a monogamist even on the best of days. We like variety.”

Vox frowned. That was true but it didn’t make him want to share. The pimp hooked a leg around Vox’s waist and grinned before lunging up and flipping the media demon onto his back and straddling his waist.

“So here’s the plan: fuck around with whoever your fiendish little heart desires, and I will too—but you’ve always got me to come home to.” Drool dripped from between Valentino’s teeth as he spoke and he ground back onto Vox’s dick. “The sluts you bang, the whores I fuck—they don’t matter, baby. They’re just things to be used. But you’re special, aren’t you? We’re special.”

A hand reached back and stroked Vox’s cock before lining it up with Valentino’s hole and the pimp pushed down slowly, eyes glittering. 

“Aren’t we, Vox? Hot and rich and powerful. Ain’t nobody else like you and me.” Valentino stopped when he bottomed out, leaning down to bring their faces close. A big hand rested on Vox’s chest over his heart.

“Mm. True,” Vox conceded. It was a fair enough point, although he was still loathe to imagine Valentino with anyone else, giving those delicious sounds and that lovely body to someone else…maddening to think about. 

On second thought—Valentino would probably consent to letting Vox watch through some strategically placed cameras. The thought brought him a little peace. He released Val’s antennae and rested his hands back on the hips that were slowly rocking up and down his cock.

“C’mon, baby. We’re kings. Let’s enjoy the spoils.”

“Let’s.”