Work Text:
If anyone asks: no, Vox's vision isn't swimming. It might be blurring. Slightly. But it isn't swimming. Swimming would indicate letters mixing together, ending up illogical and unreadable, and he's very much able to both read and understand what he's reading. It's just blurry, so it requires squinting. And he's been working for quite some time now, so it takes a few beats sometimes to actually process what the hell he's reading. But he is reading.
Quite some time is one way to describe it. He knows time is passing, but by now, time is nothing but numbers on a schedule; reminders which pop up now and then on his screen as he has to move from one point of the agenda to the next. While responding to emails, while handling stupid business matters, while putting out a fire in one of the branches of his company. That's what he fucking gets for not doing everything by himself- he has to leave the matter in the hands of some incompetent fucks, who then understandably fuck things up, and then he has to clean up the mess by himself anyway.
At least he doesn't have any talk shows or meetings in person; at least there's no fire to put out between his business partners as well. At least Velvette and Valentino are doing their jobs well. For once. One less problem on his mind.
The thing is, with the way things are now, one less isn't a lot.
His eyes are dry at this point. His neck and shoulders are so tense they physically hurt. He's half-aware that this weird, annoying buzzing he constantly hears probably comes from his own screen, the sound of the fans cooling his systems. His fingers know nothing but writing on a keyboard; his ears know nothing but the sounds of computers working in the background and the clacking of his own typing; eyes know nothing but the sight of the screens. His head doesn't just feel heavy anymore; the tension behind his eyes can officially be called a headache, and it's frustrating to no end.
He's reading the same fucking sentence for the third time. His vision is not swimming.
He really needs another coffee.
Just as Vox gets to this conclusion, the bell to the elevator dings. A sound that makes him flinch, but he doesn't tear his eyes away from the computer; he doesn't need to, anyway, because he'd recognize the sound of those heels anywhere.
Heels that are distracting his work flow, damn it.
"What." He grumbles, not bothering to turn back. It's more of a statement then a question, really. "I'm busy, Velvette."
"Yes, hello, Vox. So nice to see you too, Vee. I'm great, thanks for asking, babe." Her tone is as energetic as always, even stained with heavy sarcasm. She appears in the corner of his vision; hops to sit on his desk. Even as he keeps his eyes on the screen, he sees how she slips her phone into her pocket, swinging her feet carelessly while staring straight at him. "Quick question."
"Couldn't this have been a call?" He huffs; his eyes still run over the text, and Velvette's presence does not help him focus. He needs to write a response to this, damn it, he can't write a response if he doesn't process the fucking-
Velvette pointedly ignores his question.
"When was the last time you got up from that chair?"
Oh. Oh, of course, that's what this is about. He tries to stop himself from letting out a sigh.
"Velvette, I don't have time for this right now."
"Of course you don't, you never have time for… Okay, fucking- look at me. You-" Vox flinches as she brings her hand right in front of his face, snapping her fingers. "Look. At me-"
"WHAT?!" He turns, hypnosis flashing in his eye almost subconsciously out of frustration; an electric spark flies across his antennae. "Which part of I have shit to do don't you understand?! I'd think you'd know what it's like having to deal with fucking stupid assholes-"
"Yes, I do! I am dealing with one right now!" Velvette snaps in turn. "Do you even know what time it is?! It's two in the morning-"
He rolls his eyes, turning back to the screen. Yada, yada- none of them have normal sleep schedules, where is she coming from Vox can't tell. Probably just her female urge to bitch, or some weird overprotective motherly instincts that she's always insisting she doesn't have- Bullshit.
"And it matters, because?"
"Vox, you've been here for over twenty-four hours- You need to eat. Sleep." He rolls his eyes. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, asshole-"
"I can't go right now, Velvette, maybe in an hour." He waves her off, going back to trying to decipher the fucking email. Maybe he's not the problem. Maybe the one who wrote it is some sort of stupid asshole who uses fucked up grammar or something. "I appreciate the concern, but the business won't run itself, so…"
That's the end of the conversation for him. For him, that's enough of an explanation; he's expecting a groan, a reluctant fine, and then the click of heels as Velvette walks back to the elevator.
…maybe it's a testimony of how tired he is, because that is a big misjudgment on his side. And… even he isn't sure how did he think he'd get out of it this easily.
Because instead, he does get a groan, but Velvette doesn't walk away.
"Oh, fucking hell, you manchild-" Before he knows what's happening, she reaches out her leg, hooking it on the armrest of his chair and yanking him closer, turning Vox back in her direction. He lets out a yelp as she grabs his shoulders, her glare dead serious. "You wanna talk business? Let's talk business. Vox, you look shit." She grimaces, as she looks him over once more. "This shirt is all wrinkled and messy, there's a coffee stain on your pants, and this vest-" She takes the material in her fingers, face twisting into utter disgust. "I let you keep that in your closet?!"
"What's wrong with my vest- It's a good vest!" He protests, but she just clicks her tongue.
"Ew. Babe. No. It's going in the trash." They make eye contact again. "And, of course, cherry on top, you have eye bags so big I don't know if I would be able to mask them with make up if I could, and you know well that make up doesn't look good on your screen. TL;DR: you absolutely do not look presentable, and if you keep sitting here, this will not get better til the morning. And you have a talk show to run, and you will want to do run it, and as a person that takes care of our image I will not allow you to look like that on live TV." She raises her eyebrows, moving away, crossing her arms. "There: business talk. That an argument that speak to you, you stupid flat-face?"
Vox blinks at her, emotions swirling in his chest. Actually, it… it does. But… he can't just… walk away now- he's… got work to do, and… but, fuck, she's right about the show. He wouldn't forgive himself if he appeared in the studio not looking his best. And certainly, the internet wouldn't ever forget.
He considers for a moment.
"…but… Come on, you're a miracle maker, Vel." He eventually mumbles, though even he feels like he sounds somewhat pitiful. "You… surely, you could make me look presentable."
All he gets in response is an eye roll.
"Presentable? Yes. But tell me Vox, what do you always say is our brand?" Oh, fuck that shit eating grin on her face as she carefully articulates the word. "Per-fec-tion. You wanna look fuckin', mediocre? Sure, I'd work something out, but to make this look good? That would take more than a snap of my fingers, hon. There's no way people wouldn't notice." She shrugs. "And when they do, there's no way Val will ever let it go."
Vox groans, leaning his screen on his hand. She's right- he makes a choice to let his perfect persona slip in public once, and he'll give Valentino a strong argument for doing stupid shit that could potentially ruin their perfect brand for the foreseeable future.
Well. Fuck.
He glances back at the screen, grimacing.
"But… I still need to…"
"Fucking shit, Vox…" Velvette pinches her nose. "Your computers and your emails won't grow legs overnight- they won't run away. As stupid as our employees usually are, they'll handle themselves for a couple of hours. You need to reboot your systems, or you'll fucking crash on air. You don't want that. None of us want that." He looks back at her, still hesitant. "Just come back to the penthouse. Val's wrapped up early tonight, too- he already ordered burgers from that favourite place of yours. We'll put on a movie. Any movie. We'll let you pick and won't utter a word of complaint."
The emails are waiting, but… His eyes feel so dry. His head is pounding. He's so tense. He doesn't remember when was the last time he ate, and he sure as shit doesn't remember when was the last time he drank something that wasn't coffee.
…he kind of wants to sleep.
He looks at Velvette, feeling his walls slowly crumble.
"Even Jaws?"
Velvette smiles, and he has a feeling that she has to hold back a laugh, but he's too tired to process if she's laughing at him. All that matters is that, with another eye roll, she nods.
"Yeah- Even Jaws." She jumps off the desk, though stays next to him. "Cmon, Vee. Turn all the machinery off and lets go eat."
There's still a couple of seconds of hesitation, but he eventually scoots back to his computer just to power it off. The screens slowly flicker to darkness, leaving them in the dimmed light of the office.
"Yeah. Lets."
He gets up, but he must've overestimated how well his legs will work after sitting in one chair for multiple hours- he sways, head suddenly light, Velvette's hand quickly wrapping around his arm to steady him.
"Woah, woah- Easy, cowboy. Easy."
He blinks a couple of times.
"I'm- I'm alright." He assures, even if he leans on the desk for a second. "Stood up too fast."
Velvette rolls her eyes.
"Fucking old man… come on, we'll take it slow. I've got you."
He doesn't brush her off, letting her keep a hand on his arm, as overprotective that it feels. It's almost annoying how slowly they walk, but, to be fair- he's not in the mood to fall flat and shatter his screen. And then, after way too much time, his eyes land on the security cameras, and he remembers that he doesn't have to walk.
"Wait, I could just…" He starts, but Velvette just shakes her head, pushing the button — the elevator door opening a second later.
"Nope. Last time you did your teleportation bullshit sleep deprived, you ended up in Shock.wav's tank. We're not doing that again." She reminds him, leading him into the elevator instead. He grimaces at the rather unpleasant memories.
"Right."
He looks in the mirror; only now does he have a proper look at himself, and, fuck, Velvette's right; he does look like shit. He tries to straighten out the vest — it does absolutely nothing to fix his look. Velvette shoots him a glance from where she's already typing something on her phone.
"That's no use. And I've told you that vest is shitty, anyway. Don't bother."
On that Vox doesn't agree, but as he stares into the absolutely exhausted eyes of his reflection, he finds himself too tired to argue.
Besides that, the elevator ride is spent in silence. Once their arrival on the top floor is announced with a soft ding, they walk out hand in hand — though Velvette doesn't actually keep him steady anymore, and his movements are much more stable once his legs remembered how standing works.
Val is spread out on the loveseat, because of course he is; in a deep red, satin robe, nonetheless. He's using his lower hands to sketch something, leaning his cheek on the palm of the third and holding a cigarette with the forth. He looks up at the two other Vees as they walk in — a smile blooming on his face.
"Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in." He hums, as Vox makes his way over to the couch. Val barely has the time to get his legs out of the way before Vox plops down next to him; oh, fuck, the soft cushions feel like heaven. He doesn't want to move. Ever again.
"You're fetching him next time, bitch." Velvette huffs, walking somewhere further into the penthouse. Well, probably- that's what it sounds like. Hell if Vox knows; he's already closed his eyes, sinking into the softness of the loveseat. "I'm gonna change into something more comfortable, be right back."
Oh. Changing into something more comfortable sounded nice, but Vox is not getting up right now. Shame he didn't think of it sooner. There's shuffling at his side as Val puts away the sketchbook and sits up properly; Vox creaks one of his eyes open to see the cigarette extended to him. He takes it without a word.
Val just hums again. Vox is too tired to try to figure out whatever emotion is behind it.
"Shit day, amorcito?"
"You have no idea." Vox answers, in between one hit and another. His eyes are closed again, but he hears Valentino get up and walk around the couch. Then a laugh.
"Oh, of course I have- you didn't see me, obviously it was shit."
Vox chuckles, but doesn't comment. A part of him wants to elaborate on how his day went, but then his brain gets dragged back to the malfunction in one of the Voxtek factories, which none of the stupid shits knew how to handle properly and he had to walk them through the goddamn protocols like they were children. There were still some things to consider and fix — things he was supposed to address in the newest emails — and his head is pounding at the mere thought of trying to explain it all. And, either way, thinking about explaining it leads him back to the things he still needs to do, and-
And he's brought back to reality by a loving, and yet firm touch of Valentino's hands. He gasps, both in surprise in pain, but a good kind of pain, as Val slips his hands under his collar and his fingers thread over Vox's tense shoulders; kneading the knots of his tired muscles. Every move of Valentino's hands sends another wave of pain, just to be washed out by overflowing relief coming seconds later. Vox leans into the touch, closing his eyes and letting himself melt into it. He doesn't even mind that at some point, Val takes his cigarette back from Vox's hand.
"Fuck, how tense are you?" Valentino's voice comes eventually; soft, though with a tinge of… frustration? Annoyance? Concern? Who knows, with Val. "Your shoulders are literally as hard as a fucking rock-"
Vox creaks his eyes open slightly, feeling a smirk appear on his face.
"You usually like it when I'm hard."
Valentino laughs quietly; Vox hisses as his fingers dig into a particularly painful spot.
"I like it when I make you hard, baby." He hums, leaning in closer; Vox feels his breath right next to his ear. "Not when you're hard after sitting in your stupid chair all day."
Before he even comes with any idea on how to respond, a ding echoes through the penthouse; Valentino straightens back up, though doesn't stop massaging Vox's neck and shoulders; doesn't need to, when soon enough sound of footsteps fills the room again. Not heels anymore, though it's a familiar sound too — the fluffy, cat slippers Velvette usually wears when there's just the three of them.
"That must be the food- I'll get it!" She throws in passing, sparing a glance at the other Vees. "Don't you two just sit there, set up the movie!"
"The movie is set up." Val answers casually. Vox leans his head backwards, trying to look up at the man.
"What? I didn't tell you which movie to put on, though."
All Val does is raise an eyebrow, before blowing a puff of smoke straight into his face.
"You didn't need to- You choose Jaws every time."
Vox frowns.
"I could've chosen something different-"
"Well, did you?"
At that, he falls quiet. Valentino laughs, before leaning down to plant a small kiss on the edge of his screen.
"That's what I thought."
Much to Vox's disappointment, Valentino's hands eventually leave his shoulders- But he can't deny that he does feel a bit more loose, slightly more relaxed. Like he can melt into the cushions better now. And he doesn't have much time to dwell on it, when literally a moment later, a scent of food fills the air, and- fuck, he hasn't even realized how hungry he is up until now. Thankfully, Velvette comes back with the bags of takeout, setting them on the coffee table in front of them.
"Alright, now…" Somehow, she's managed to go full home-spa mode within those few minutes she was gone; hair in the bonnet, make up off, face mask on (Vox is never sure if it actually does anything since her skin is plastic, but he's too scared to ask), in her pajamas- Oh, pajamas. How Vox wishes he was wearing pajamas. Not that it matters right now, because, one — he's still set on never wanting to get up from the soft couch again, and two: there's food, which smells so good he feels himself drooling before he even sees it. "The double burger is for Vox… the… that one's the veggie one, that's mine… Val, your chicken strips… The chips are for us to share, and so would be the sauces… And that… that would be all."
Vox should probably wait for Velvette and Valentino to start eating, but he's so hungry he pretty much physically cannot wait a second longer. He hears Valentino's chuckle as the man settles himself back on his spot, reaching for the TV remote to start the previously set up movie, while Velvette shuffles back into the kitchen, coming back a minute later with a teapot and three cups in hand. The only real downside of him digging into the burger early is that Velvette complains about his greasy fingers as they pass the blankets around (even though he's wiped his hands before spreading the fluffy one over her legs, thank you very much-); neither Valentino or Velvette really comment on how fast he manages to get through the burger, either. And, true to their word, neither complain about having to watch Jaws.
Realistically, Vox knows well he absolutely won't stay awake til end of the movie. His eyelids have been dropping since before he's gotten to the penthouse, and now, comfortably settled on the couch, wrapped up in blankets and with his stomach full, there's no way he'll stay awake much longer. But… even those couple of moments are nice. With Val's legs on Vox's lap, and Velvette on his other side. Stupid jokes coming from one or the other every now and then. With good food, a good movie, and people that care about him.
Vox might be exhausted, but he falls asleep with a genuine smile on his face.