Work Text:
With a heavy sigh, I swing open the doors to my boss’s super evil overlord lair, with its very own workplace safety hazard catwalk and sharks that eye me a little too closely. At the moment, however, my acrophobia and general wariness of apex predators that see me as a walking pork chop in heels are the least of my concerns as I storm towards the cynosure of the citywide blackout.
Reaching a hand out, a quick burst of electricity gives Vox the equivalent of a solid slap in the face and his screen comes to life at the same time as all of his monitors. In the second it takes to reboot and realize his surroundings, I’ve already been spammed with texts from the other two Vees and Velvette’s name overtakes my phone screen when I answer her third call in two minutes.
“Why the hell is my Sinstagram taking so long to load? You know I was supposed to go live tonight — Fuck!” She shouts petulantly.
I stop short of Vox to respond, trying to maintain some semblance of patience, “I’m doing the best I can but, unfortunately, I wasn’t prepared to be a backup generator for a city twice the size of Tokyo single handedly, Vel. Perhaps you’d like to give it a try.” Whoops. As bitchy as I ended up sounding, I’m lucky Velvette values brutal honesty and over the past six years I’d managed to gain her favor.
Instead of flaying me and turning my skin into a handbag, she huffs frustratedly. “Tell that outsized microwave of a boss to get his shit together before I go live.” Unceremoniously, she ends the call, leaving me in an uncomfortable silence only interrupted by the hum of computers.
Before me, said microwave is slumped into his chair with a gloomy disposition. Having only just regained power and consciousness, his anger has obviously subsided to make way for despondency, whether his ego would let him admit it or not — actually, this is Vox, his ego would most definitely not.
With a wave of my hand, I dismiss the tabs open to social media and news outlets that had immediately begun pouring out comments on the latest back-and-forth between Vox and Alastor (despite the lagging, I’m pretty proud of the Mbps I’m pulling). Those out of the way, I perch on the edge of his desk and face him. When he doesn’t so much as glance in my direction, I realize just how bad Alastor’s reappearance and shit talk got to him.
“You know I never would have sold half my soul to a flat screen with the mental fortitude of a paperclip, right?”
Vox’s claws sink into the arm rests of his chair and if he’d had regular teeth, I’m sure he’d be grinding them to nubs. “Not right now, V,” he growls.
Any other of his minions would have scampered off long before now, but I’m not them. Instead, I hook my foot around one of the wheels of his chair and tug him close enough that he instinctually leans further into the backrest to maintain personal space. “Are you trying to make me a liar?”
Finally, he meets my gaze, clearly either confused or lagging.
Grabbing the lapels of his jacket, I pull him even closer, just barely leaning over his considerable height and causing him to grab onto my thighs that are spread to make room for him. As his claws prick the nylons that were revealed by my skirt riding up, I elaborate, “Either you’re trying to make a liar or you’re Vox, the head of the Vees, the bleeding edge of tech, and the overlord that makes those pathetic sinners bend to his will with barely a look.”
Beneath my hands, he seemingly grows, spine straightening from a cowering slouch to his typical proud posture, shoulders back and head back so that I have to look up now to maintain eye contact. My fingers uncurl around his jacket in favor of sliding my palms along his chest lightly. In consideration of Vox’s recently damaged ego, I don’t bother attempting to hide my admiration when I feel the toned muscle hidden under his expensive suit.
Finally, I go in for kill. “So if I’m not a liar, I think you should forget about making that fossil wish he’d stayed gone and make him wish he were never fucking born in the first place. What do you think, sir?” Under my palm, his heartbeat quickens at the honorific.
A complete one-eighty of just a minute before, Vox grins wickedly as he grips more purposefully at my thighs and tugs me forward so that the space between us is even smaller and my once light touch becomes rough as I catch myself from falling into his lap. With us nose-to-screen, both of our electricity purrs just the surface. “I think you know a good opportunity when you see one, doxy.”
All of a sudden Vox closes the distance, pressing his mouth hungrily to my own. Any reservations I might’ve had about locking lips with my boss who literally owns my soul fly out the window as I lean into the kiss. As soon as he nips at my bottom lip, I use my hands that are still flat against his torso to push him back into his chair, using his distraction to my advantage.
“Then how about you start with getting those generators back up and running?”
He gapes momentarily, buffering before answering, “Shit — yeah, on it.”
Before I have time to think about it, I lean in to press a quick kiss to the corner of his frown and say, “Thanks, sugar.” Even with my back turned as I walk away, I can hear the fans of his screen turn on and a stuttered inhale that tells me he’s glitching.