Work Text:
It’s only 4pm. Vox knows this without having to look at the time. He also knows that he usually works later—needs to work later. He knows that he’s behind, especially after the interruption yesterday—
Point is, he can’t afford to stop now.
But he sure is getting a headache.
By the time the clock reaches 4:31, Vox is well and truly at his limit. He’s fine; he knows he’s fine. But trying to read through the crack trickling down his screen has left him with quite the migraine.
The pain doesn’t subside when he closes his eyes.
It’s just a crack. It’s tiny, really; he’s dealt with much worse. And it’s not like he won’t heal by tomorrow. Really, there’s no lasting damage.
That doesn’t make the pain go away.
It’s okay. All he has to do is finish this review, and then he can go to sleep. Val will still be ignoring him—if he’s even home. It’ll be easy. He just has to get this work done, and the rest can wait until tomorrow.
Easy. He just needs to focus.
But the pain is distracting, and he finds his mind drifting. His thoughts slip back to his early days in Hell, the beginning of VoxTek, back when he worked alone.
Working alone was easier, in some ways. No one else to worry about; no one else to please.
He wouldn’t go back though. Val and Vel had changed every part of his life, and they did make a formidable team. They were powerful, clever, and charismatic, taking control of Hell’s culture in a way he could never do on his own. They were fun, too: the nights they spent celebrating together were like nothing he’s experienced on Earth. And of course, Val had shown him a whole new world of pleasure, once he realized he could be into men too.
No, Val and Vel were the best things that ever happened to him. He wouldn't give that up for anything.
But it had been easier.
Valentino had been first. Vel came later, but Val and him have been working together for decades. Partners both in and out of the office, they know each other better than anything. They know each other’s favorites, their pet peeves, their dreams.
They know just how to push each other’s buttons.
And they do. Perhaps too much. They push and push until one of them falls.
It’s usually Vox.
The thing is, he knows how to deal with Val. He knows better than anybody else. But he’s never been the most patient man, and he gets carried away sometimes too. They’re similar that way. Power hungry, control freak, call him what you will, but Vox doesn’t like it when Val steps out of line.
And Val doesn’t like it when Vox tries to stop him.
But it takes two to tango, and they can dance like no one else.
If he gets hurt, well, that’s just the risk of their unique choreography.
And it’s fine. It’s fine, because at the end of the day, Vox is in control. It’s fine, because he knows the ins and outs of each part of their business, and he won’t let Val do any serious damage. It’s fine, because he knows what he’s doing, he knows Val, and none of this really matters when they’re some of the most powerful overlords in Hell.
Anyway, he’s always healed by the morning.
With a sigh, he drags himself out of his thoughts. He needs to get back to work. And he’s fine, really—even the headache isn’t that bad if he turns his head just right to avoid looking through the broken glass.
He’s okay. And he wouldn’t trade this afterlife for anything.
You can’t expect a perfect love in Hell.