Chapter Text
Valentino watched from the penthouse balcony as Vox's screen flickered with that particular brightness it only achieved when he was mentioned.
Alastor.
Always fucking Alastor.
"—and the Radio Demon was spotted again near Cannibal Town, sources say he's been —" Vox's voice carried through the open door, that professional broadcaster tone that Val had once found charming. Now it just grated. Because that tone never wavered, never cracked, except when Vox talked about him.
Val took a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling red in Hell's perpetual twilight. Three months. Three months since Alastor had returned from his mysterious absence, and Vox had been obsessed. Tracking his movements. Analyzing his broadcasts. Staying up until his screen dimmed with exhaustion, muttering about "outdated media" and "showing him who really runs this city."
It was pathetic. And it was ending tonight.
Val stubbed out his cigarette and slid back inside, his movements liquid and deliberate. Vox sat at his wall of monitors, fingers dancing across keyboards, his screen displaying a dozen different camera feeds simultaneously. Always watching. Always performing. Always on.
"Cariño," Val purred, draping himself over the back of Vox's chair. "You've been at this for sixteen hours."
"Just finishing up the evening broadcast analysis," Vox said absently, not looking away from the screens. "Did you see what that obsolete fuck said about digital media? I'm going to—"
"You're going to take a break." Val's hands slid down to Vox's shoulders, kneading the tension there. "You're going to let me take care of you."
"Val, I don't have time—"
"You're glitching, baby." Val's voice dropped lower, intimate. Concerned. "Look at your left hand."
Vox glanced down. His fingers were indeed flickering slightly, the edges of his form destabilizing. A sign of overwork, of pushing too hard. He frowned, and Val felt the small victory warm in his chest.
"I'm fine. Just need to—"
"When's the last time you ate?" Val interrupted, spinning the chair around so Vox faced him. "When's the last time you slept? You're running yourself into the ground over someone who doesn't even think about you."
Vox's screen flashed with irritation. "That's not—I'm not doing this because of him. I'm doing this because it's my job. Because someone has to monitor—"
"Baby." Val cupped Vox's screen, his touch gentle. "I'm worried about you. You're so focused on everyone else, you're forgetting to take care of yourself. Let me help."
There it was—the flicker of uncertainty in Vox's expression. The small crack in his armor.
"I appreciate it, Val, but I really should finish—"
"One meal." Val's smile was warm, inviting. "Let me make you something. You can eat while you work if you want."
Vox hesitated, then sighed, his screen dimming slightly. "Okay. Yeah. Maybe I am pushing a bit hard."
"That's my smart boy," Val murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Vox's screen. "You just stay here and relax. I'll bring you something special."
The food was rich. Decadent. Val had always been good in the kitchen when he wanted to be, and tonight he wanted to be. Pasta drowning in cream sauce, bread soaked in butter and garlic, a chocolate torte that was probably more sin than dessert.
"Jesus, Val, this is enough for three people," Vox said, but he was already reaching for the fork.
"You need it, baby. You've been running on empty." Val settled onto the arm of Vox's chair, one hand idly stroking the back of Vox's neck. "Besides, I like taking care of you. You're always so busy taking care of everyone else."
It was true, in a way. Vox was always busy managing the Vees' public image, running his media empire, monitoring every screen in Pride. He rarely stopped to eat properly, usually just grabbing whatever was convenient between meetings and broadcasts.
"This is really good," Vox admitted, and Val watched with satisfaction as he took another bite. And another.
"There's plenty more where that came from," Val said softly. "You just focus on your work. Let me worry about everything else."
Val's fingers traced idle patterns along Vox's shoulder as he ate, a touch that seemed casual but was anything but. Each stroke was deliberate, possessive, a silent claim being laid with every pass of his hand.
"That's it," Val murmured when Vox reached for a second helping. "You deserve this. You deserve to be pampered."
When Vox finally pushed the plate away—half the torte still remaining—Val made a soft sound of disapproval. "Come on, cariño. You barely touched dessert."
"I'm full, Val. I can't—"
"Just a few more bites." Val's hand slid from Vox's shoulder to his chest, fingers splaying possessively. "For me?"
There was something in his voice—something warm and coaxing and impossible to refuse. Vox found himself picking up the fork again, and Val's smile was brilliant.
"Good boy," Val purred, and the praise sent an unwanted thrill through Vox's soul.
When the plate was finally empty, Val pulled Vox up from his chair with surprising strength, guiding him toward the bedroom. "You've been working too hard. Let me help you relax."
Val's hands were everywhere sliding under Vox's jacket, loosening his bow tie, mapping the planes of his body with a touch that was both reverent and claiming. He pressed Vox back onto the bed, his weight a comfortable pressure, his mouth hot against the sensitive junction where Vox's screen met his neck.
"Mine," Val breathed against him, and Vox's screen flickered with static. "My beautiful, brilliant boy. So smart to stay in tonight. So smart to let me take care of you."
The praise mixed with the touch, with the heat of Val's body, with the lingering satisfaction of a full stomach. Vox's hands came up to grip Val's shoulders, pulling him closer even as something in the back of his mind whispered that this was wrong, that he'd just been manipulated, that Val had—
"Stop thinking," Val murmured, his hands sliding lower. "Just feel. Just let me worship you the way you deserve."
And Vox did. He let Val's touch drown out the doubts, let the pleasure override the nagging sense that he'd just given up something important. Val's hands were skilled, his praise constant, his attention absolute and consuming.
"That's it," Val whispered as Vox arched beneath him. "That's my perfect boy. You don't need anyone else. You don't need anything else. Just this. Just me."
Later, when they lay tangled together in the sheets, Val's arms wrapped around him like a cage disguised as an embrace, Vox felt warm and sated and cherished.
He also felt, in a way he couldn't quite articulate, like he'd just been caught in a trap lined with silk
.
But Val was stroking his screen so gently, murmuring such sweet things, that Vox pushed the thought away and let himself drift into sleep.
The next evening, when Vox mentioned attending a tech conference across town, Val was ready.
"Tonight?" He let concern color his voice. "Baby, didn't you see the news? There was an attack on the east side. Overlord territory dispute. It's not safe."
Vox's screen flickered with annoyance. "Val, I'm an Overlord. I can handle—"
"Of course you can." Val's hands slid up Vox's arms, soothing. "But why risk it? You've been so stressed lately. And you know how those conferences are—just a bunch of lesser demons trying to pitch you their shitty ideas. You could take the night off. Stay in. Let me take care of you."
"I really should make an appearance—"
"They'll understand. You're Vox. You don't need to prove anything to anyone." Val's voice dropped to a purr. "Besides, I was planning something special for dinner. That dish you mentioned liking last week? I've been perfecting the recipe."
Vox wavered. Val could see it in the way his screen dimmed slightly, the way his shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
"I guess... I mean, if it's not safe..."
"That's my smart boy," Val murmured. "Always thinking strategically. Why waste your time on nobodies when you could be here, comfortable, with someone who actually appreciates you?"
The lie was so smooth, so reasonable. And Vox, tired and overworked and hungry for validation that didn't come from viewer ratings, believed it.
It's just one night, Vox thought as he settled back into his chair, as Val brought him plate after plate of rich, delicious food. Just one night to recharge. I'll go to the next one.
But the next conference, Val had another reason. And the one after that. And slowly, so slowly Vox didn't notice, his world began to shrink.