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Baby
Val called everybody ‘baby’; that’s just facts. Don’t look too into it, that’s just his default. Nobody is safe from Val calling them ‘baby’, be it friends, strangers, enemies. That’s just how it rolls.
Vox on the other hand, never called anyone ‘baby’, aside from his wife in the life that is long lost.
Val calls Vox ‘baby’, when they first meet. Obviously, the media demon doesn’t respond to such names but that won’t stop Val regardless. But then the months turn to years, years turn to decades, and Val finds himself calling Vox ‘baby’ less and less. He never thinks too hard on it, because if he did, he would be forced to acknowledge the truth he always sought to avoid:
He had become attached. Vox is no longer some stranger nor some face that Val will eventually forget. Somehow, in the years they’ve spent together, Vox has become a part of Val. Vox is in him, in more ways than one.
Meanwhile, Vox starts to call Val ‘baby’, more and more. Sometimes he says it sternly, mockingly, or angrily. But often, he says it fondly, tenderly even.
Val thinks he likes it the most when Vox says it thoughtlessly, as if calling him ‘baby’ is just a default. It shows that even through their fights and occasional estrangement, Val is still Vox’s ‘baby’. Just like the old man is his.
Nowadays, Val only calls Vox ‘baby’ when he’s pissed or upset at him. He doesn’t know if the media demon has caught on yet, but Val doesn’t mind if he hasn’t. At the same time, Vox always calls him ‘baby’, be it angry or endeared.
And even if Val will never admit it, he quite likes hearing Vox call him that.
Rat
Vox first called Val a ‘rat’ when they ate together.
“It’s like a fucking rat,” he chuckled, watching Val scarf down a cheap burger.
In any other situation, Val would have thrown his drink at the TV head and watched him short-circuit, but in this case where he really fucking wanted his raspberry soda, he opted to throw a handful of fries and wipe his greasy hands on Vox’s expensive outercoat.
Vox made a sound of disgusted annoyance as he glared at Val, who continued to messily wolf down his burger.
“Yep,” Vox muttered as he tried to get the grease stains off, “definitely a rat.”
To this day, Vox calls Val a rat whenever Val -rightfully- eggs him on. He calls Val that whenever he’s pissed off at the other. It also becomes like a codename anytime Val does something to annoy Vox, that he can’t reveal to others.
Like when a random, easy-money TV show was about to start filming soon and Vox needed to cast the lead actor.
“That problem would have been solved yesterday if some rat hadn’t torn my first choice into shreds in some rage-fuled tantrum,” Vox vented to Velvette.
Val, who was passing by, only flipped him off and Vel groaned.
What? It’s not like the rat thing is a big secret.
Darling/ Dear
This one is a fun one. See, for as much as Vox preaches about the future, he never quite outgrew the traditional nicknames that spouses or couples used on each other.
While Val is not Vox’s spouse or even his boyfriend, he is his fuckbuddy who he’s occasionally romantic with.
When Val called Vox ‘darling’ for the first time, it was out of sheer curiosity. To his delight, Vox’s reaction to the nickname was priceless as he froze, screen glitching. Giggling to himself, Val pressed an innocent kiss to the side of his screen and left.
A few days later, he tried the same thing but with the name ‘dear’ and received the same results.
Oh yeah, he was definitely going to be using that again.
Nowadays, he uses the old couple nickname whenever he and Vox are in a good place in their relationship. They’re not always close or intimate, but when they are, Val treats Vox’s little ego with those pet names, reveling at how flustered Vox gets to the name.
It’s so… cute.
Val also uses it when he wants to grate Vox’s nerves but not get in trouble for it.
“My daaaarling” he calls, slumping over Vox from behind.
An annoyed sound grumbles from the back of Vox’s throat, but he doesn’t peel Val off.
Despite the media demon’s ire, as Val rests his head on Vox’s monitor, he feels the screen heat up.
What a loser.
Internally, he laughs and gives Vox’s head an obnoxious yet affectionate nuzzle.
Tino
Tino was the nickname given to Val back when he was a whore. Tino was the name clients called out as they reached their peak and the name his pimp called out when he wanted to give him to the highest paying douchebag.
When Val killed his sorry ass and took over his metaphorical “throne”, he vowed to never be seen like that again. Anybody who called him “Tino” would either get a dangerous warning, or more frequently, a bullet to the throat.
Until Vox came along, who had no knowledge of Val’s past nor ever questioned him on it.
“Tino,” was what Vox called him the morning after they slept together. The name had Val freeze in his place and ask what Vox just called him.
Vox repeated the name again, confused.
“Is that not okay?”
Normally, that would be the part where Val would threaten to slit his throat and use his blood as lube if he ever tried to call him that again.
And yet.
“Say it again.”
Vox does.
Strangely, word that was always so demeaning and uttered in hungry lust sounds so… tender on Vox’s electric tongue. As if it’s something precious to hold on to.
Val… doesn’t hate it. Not when said like that. Not when said by Vox.
So he sighs.
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
He supposes he can make one exception.
Voxxy
The name is used when Val first meets Vox. Personally, it’s one of Val’s favorites. There’s just so many ways to say the name that it’s useful for every occasion.
Val uses it when they fight, and the name jeeringly drips from his tongue in a barely concealed rage before he storms out.
He uses it when Vox pulls him in their make-believe dance floor, the name paired with laughter and genuine delight.
He uses it when in their throes of passion, his voice filled with desperation and wanting.
He uses it when he can tell the old man needs comfort, draping his upper arm around Vox’s shoulder and bringing him in close, saying nothing else.
Nicknames come and go, but Val doesn’t think he’ll ever let this one go.
Flutterby
Val always thinks of the “Flutterby” name as a trend. He doesn’t know where or how it started, but there are times when he randomly thinks about it and smiles, if with a hint of nostalgia.
He and Vox had been drunk together, and at some point, Val had opened his giant wings as Vox looked on in inebriated awe.
“They flutter,” he said with a gaping jaw.
“I’m a moth,” Val replied, swaying slightly, “of course they flutter.”
Vox giggled, an odd sound coming from him that when sober, would humiliate him. Alas, there was nobody aside from Val and Val didn’t care.
“I can just see you fluttering by everyone,” Vox paused, his drunken eyes cutely squinted in concentration, “fluttering-by. Flutter by. Flutterbyyyyy.”
He giggled again.
“That’s cute. You’re my Flutterby.”
Val’s drunk ass petulantly crossed his arms.
“That sounds stupid,” he grumped, despite his burning face.
Drunk Vox only laughed, before getting up to clumsily approach him.
“You likeeeeeee ittt,” he teased, plopping himself on Val’s lap.
“I do not,” Val scowled.
“You do to.”
“Do not.”
“Do to.”
“Do not.”
“Do to.”
“Do not!”
“Do too!”
They went back and fourth until they either kissed and had sex, or passed out. Val still doesn’t know what happened.
What he does remember, however, is how even after they woke up and got over the hangover, the “Flutterby” nickname stuck.
Vox used “Flutterby” only when he was in a really good mood or was feeling really fond of Val. When Val heard Vox call him that, he knew that he was doing a good job. And if his heart fluttered along with the name from time to time, well. That was nobody’s business but his own.
It was only until Val lost his antenna, thus his ability to fly, when Vox stopped. On one hand, Val supposed he should be pleased Vox’s selfish ass is trying to be considerate, for once. On the other, when he thinks back to that old name, he can’t help but a sense of longing.
Not that he’ll ever let Vox know, though.
Papi
A cult classic, and for good reason.
Not only does Daddy Kink really get Val going, but what other word is there to describe what Vox is? A fucked-up, greedy, silver fox, sugar daddy whom Val finds to be very dear.
And even if Vox denies it, he never tells Val to stop, not even the beginning.
“Papi,” is one Val finds useful to many occasions, the biggest one being when he wants to appease Vox. Despite being an excellent sugar daddy, Val does have to work with what he’s got to make Vox agree. It’s simply all part of the little game the two have concocted together.
Besides, Val isn’t the only party who gets excited at the nickname haha.
And Val can admit, being the Daddy to literally hundreds of whores is as exhausting as it is invigorating.
So yeah, it’s nice to have his own papi whom he can rely on.
Princess
Okay, so Val has a Princess fantasy, sue him. What can he say, there’s something so appealing about being a damel in distress waiting for his flat faced prince to save him. Like sure, he can save himself but it’s about the drama and .
Val thinks that “Princess” may be to Vox what “Voxxy” is to him.
Vox uses “Princess” in all sorts of fonts. He says it when he wants to be condescending, he says it when he wants to be affectionate, he says it when he’s angry and he says it when he’s horny.
Either way, Val doesn’t mind all that much.
Anyone else, he will kill for calling him a princess but for Vox? Val will be whatever princess he damn pleases.
Amor
Val first called Vox that by accident. It wasn’t even in the throes of passion, which at least would have been more understandable since the high of an orgasm makes people say shit they don’t mean.
But no.
Instead, he said it when Vox personally dropped by to give him his lunch that he had forgotten upstairs. At the time, Val smiled fondly.
“Aww, look at you being like a cute little boyfriend and giving me lunch. Careful Voxxy, people may start to think you care,” he teased.
“Shut the fuck up,” Vox flipped him off, “next time, I’ll have my assistant do it. Don’t blame me if he shakes your sandwich sculpture and messes it up.”
Val just laughed before bringing Vox in and planting a kiss to the side of his screen.
“Thank you, amor,” he whispered, seductive tone instinctual.
“Yeah yeah,” Vox let him plant a few more kisses before shoving him away, “now get back to work.”
“Yessir,” Val did a playful salute.
It was only long after Vox left when Val realized just what he said.
Well fuck.
Later, when he calmed down, he noticed that Vox wasn’t acting strange or didn’t seem alarmed by Val’s statement. Perhaps he didn’t know what it meant?
As an experiment, Val tried again the next day.
“Vox, amor, have you seen my sex dungeon keys?” he kept a close eye on Vox’s reaction.
The media demon didn’t even twitch as he answered the question. So he didn’t know. Okay, there’s a relief. But to be safe, Val swore to himself to never use that nickname on Vox again.
Decades passed, and Val’s talented but traitorous mouth did not stop instinctually uttering the name. Vox never responded strangely to the name, so apparently Val’s mouth and some part of his brain took that as permission to keep going.
Eventually, Val just stopped fighting it.
These days, he calls Vox “amor” when they’re in a good place. Be it in the breakfast room eating, living room watching TV, or bedroom having sex that somehow never gets boring.
Val never tells Vox what ‘amor’ means, nor does Vox ever ask.
A part of Val suspects Vox already knows, and just never brings it up. If that’s the case, Val thinks he’s grateful.
What they have now, it’s good. Great even. Some may even say perfect.
Why even attempt to change that?
Love has no place in their lives, not if they want to stay on top. Not if they want to stay hard and not grow soft. Val knows this.
And still, sometimes, when the two lay down together on their shared bed, fully clothed, and doing nothing but lay in each other’s arms, Val thinks this may be the closest thing to love demons can get.
Even if he’ll never admit it, deep down right into his embittered heart and blackened soul, he knows he loves Vox.
And though he’ll never ask, he’s pretty sure Vox loves him too.