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“ Oh, Voxxy~”
The voice was lithe. Familiar. It sang through the door into his consciousness like the wisp of smoke through cool night air.
Valentino. A man who towered over the greatest of the overlords in kitten heels and rose-tinted glasses. A man who took what he wanted in his vice-like grip and didn’t ask questions. Unyielding. A force to be reckoned with, and yet – sweet as a molasses that could drown you into its own viscous, saccharine prison.
But everyone had their weaknesses. Things that they wanted more than anything else. And if there was one thing Vox was good at, it was sifting through the bullshit to find them.
Unfortunately, Val had proven to be a particularly difficult gem to crack.
“Ah, Mr. Valentino. I see you found my office with no trouble. And you’ve made yourself at home at that. The only thing that’s missing is an invitation.”
“We can drop the formalities, Voxxy. We both know why I’m here. And I doubt you’re about to ask me to leave, are you, baby? Not when I can give you what you so desperately crave.”
A black-heeled boot dragged across the surface of the desk as Val shifted in his seat. He didn’t move to sit upright, just putting one leg on top of the other where they were perched on the surface. His red coat draped off his legs, revealing nearly bare purple skin all the way to his hip save the delicate trellis of his thigh-high fishnets.
“And what exactly do you think that is?”
The clank of the heavy lock falling into place sounded through the otherwise quiet room before the soft reverberation of Vox’s shoes against the floor, making his way to his desk.
“Me.”
There were many benefits to the form Vox had been gifted when descending to Hell. One was the precise way he could manipulate the depiction of his own emotions. To a T, he could choose the expressions that displayed on his screen as though picking from a selection of masks on a shelf. None of the unpredictability and disorder of human emotionality, that could as easily reveal one’s own weaknesses as setting your cards on the table for all to see.
And so, a simple smirk was all that rendered on Vox’s screen as he walked toward the desk, while his internal circuits sparked and flared with discretionary excitement. He bent at the waist and placed neon-clawed hands on the surface of his own desk, unblinkingly meeting the gaze of his accoster.
“Oh? And what makes you think I’d have any interest in such a thing?”
“Babe, the lights have been flickering since you walked in the room.”
Fuck.
The sharp, dissonant sound of glass on steel hardly made Val twitch as Vox’s claws dug dents into the desk. His screen flashed, and for a moment, he struggled.
And the terrifying thing about that – the thing that left Vox’s insides glitching – was that he didn’t struggle. Ever. He never hesitated. Never second guessed. And he was never wrong. So what was it about this purple moth in his thigh highs and faux fur that dug under his skin?
The answer? Well. That was something that not even Vox was ready to come to terms with yet.
He righted himself, pushing up and squaring his impossibly geometric shoulders as he stared at the man in front of him.
“There’s a wiring issue, been meaning to fix it,” he replied finally, spinning around and beginning to pace. Restless legs. Whenever his circuits began to whir outside of his control – he’d had the same issue even in life. Much less electrically manifested, but the same nonetheless. Pacing was often the only way he could get his thoughts out.
“Of course.” That voice – that red wine on a late December evening, chocolate-covered cherries in bed kind of smooth tenor that just made him ache – that voice was what kept Vox up at night. What he wouldn’t give to hear it moaning his name. “Maybe you should have that looked at. Suppose it’s something like having a UTI to you, isn’t it?”
Stare at the wall. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Don’t—
Those heels touched the ground and goosebumps shot up Vox’s arms like a switch was flipped. He felt a sound bubble up in his throat somewhere between a growl and the aggravated whir of a computer running a program above its paygrade, as Val walked closer. And then a hand on his shoulder. Another on his waist. Another on his neck – everywhere. He could touch him everywhere. But he wouldn’t. Because that’s what he did. The king of teases.
“What do you want, Val?”
“See, I’d answer that, baby. But I doubt very seriously my answer will get us anywhere at all. I think it’s much more fun if I ask you the same question.” He was too close. Voice whispering over the side of his screen, fingers crawling up the back of his suit jacket.
Finally, Vox jerked away and he began to pace again.
Val continued, “Oh, and…lies only, please. They’re more fun. I love to watch you… short circuit .”
From a surveillance screen, Vox watched Val’s coat flow around him as he took his seat on the desk once again, long legs crossing, and his white and red fluff bunching up around his neck.
“All I want is for you to sign the contract, Val. Sign. Merge your club with my entertainment hub and we can create the largest fucking porn conglomerate Hell has seen in decades.”
“I must say, it’s tempting.”
“The papers are in your office. I, personally, saw to it that—”
“But honestly, Voxxy, where’s the fun in that?”
Vox froze, his antenna twitching as he turned back to look at the Cruella DeVille-looking fucker perched on his desk like he owned the thing, smiling a magenta-toothed grin that would surely haunt Vox’s lucid dream – and not in a particularly unpleasant way.
Vox groaned as he recited his obvious answer, “Oh. I don’t know. Just domination of Pentagram City – a look inside the Sin-Driven depravity that runs this place. A chance to dominate as high up as Lucifer himself and—”
Those slim, red velvet covered shoulders pulled up into a shrug and the coat slid off, exposing bare skin that Val doesn’t bother recovering.
“I don’t… understand you, Valentino,” he said as though the words are just now occurring to him. Tugged from his chest with a hot iron poker, searing his wires – frying him from the inside out. He hated a puzzle he couldn’t solve. And Val was that. “I come to you with a after-life-changing opportunity on a silver fucking platter. An opportunity to finally take the full potential of the empire you’ve built from the ground up by broadcasting that power and sex all over Pride. Hell, all over Hell itself. I can give you all of that. Sure, you’re an overlord. But you’re a minor one. I’m giving you the opportunity to become…unstoppable. By everyone except myself. And you… shrug ?”
Val’s smirk only grew. Taunting.
… Delectable .
“You know, for someone known for his sharp, unmatchable intellect, you’re a real fucking idiot, Voxxy,” Val said finally. Grabbing a cigarette from his pocket and a lighter from somewhere Vox doesn’t see, he lit up and pulled a long drag before releasing a tantalizing swirl of pink wisps up toward the ceiling.
“If I cared that much about becoming the King of Hell, I would have slept my way to the top a long time ago. And trust me, you wouldn’t have had anything to do with that. If I wanted power, I could have it.”
Val stood again, red coat fanning out around him, only hanging on by his elbows. Flashes of a skimpy black jumper peek out from beneath. Vox stands his ground even as Val gets distressingly close.
“Then what exactly is it you want, Valentino?”
The moth bends at the waist and a pink swirl of smoke twists around Vox’s bowtie before it yanks him forward, close enough for Val’s breath to fog his screen before he gets that answer he knows he craves. That Val knows he craves.
“You.”
