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Val was going to kiss Vox.
He knew, deep down, that he was going to kiss that stupid screen face.
He'd play it off as curiosity, he thought sneakily, as if Val was just dying to understand how Vox's head worked, how his tongue worked, instead of what it actually was- he was unbelievably fond of Vox.
Vox with his dorky sweater vests and blue blushing face when Val just got a teeny bit closer to him on a barstool, Vox with his gentlemanly opening of doors for Val, Vox with his pride and ego, but also his ambition and passion.
They were just business partners.
Val wouldn't mind if they were more.
Because despite telling himself that he's going to stay professional (okay, maybe a little flirting because he flirts with anyone above a 7) because Vox wants to stay professional, Val can't help but start to notice that Vox… is kind of hot.
He's got a nice body, though Val hasn't seen it undressed, but he's got a good pair of arms on him. And his hands! So big… Val can't help but look at them sometimes. Hands that could fit around his waist easily, fingers that could stretch him good.
And he's got a nice smile too, he guesses. Expressive eyes. When he quirks an eyebrow it gets Val hot and bothered.
But they're strictly business partners.
Well … do all business partners hang out as often as they do? Do they drink wine together and watch their favorite movies? Do normal business partners remember how he takes his coffee (dash of milk, three sugars, and a splash of vanilla)? Does a business partner send flowers to the other when a film is successful?
Because Val may not come from a business world, but he thinks that him and Vox are… entering a new territory.
And he likes it. A lot, actually. He loves the attention Vox gives him without expecting his body in return. He loves that Vox knows what will cheer him up, what will make him laugh. He likes that Vox leaves ashtrays around his apartment for when Val comes over.
It's a level of care for him Val hasn't experienced in decades.
So yeah, Val wants to kiss him.
Will it ruin everything? Maybe. Will Vox yell at him, say he's not a queer? Probably.
Will Val still do it? Most definitely.
He just needs to find the right time.
It's not when Vox teaches him swing dancing, though it's certainly fun and Vox's eyes are wide with excitement.
It's not when he calls Vox to pick him up from a night out on the town, drunk out of his mind and Vox has to carry him back to his apartment.
It's not even when Vox brings him soup when Val gets sick after one of his skanks showed up to work with the flu… though to be fair, Val wasn't really feeling cute or sexy when he was sick and gross.
In fact, it's such a normal moment it would be considered boring by most people.
Val is stuck at Vox's place because of the acid rain pouring outside, a deluge he wouldn't be caught dead in. Acid rain, in addition to being annoying as fuck because it keeps everyone indoors, is harmful to his beautiful wings, something he learned the hard way before meeting Vox.
Vox has a vinyl playing on the record player, something low and slow to be comforting while still inviting conversation if Vox and Val choose to have one.
The lights are dimmed, because Vox always dims his lights when Val is around. Val isn't sure if Vox does it knowingly or subconsciously.
Val's sketching in his sketchbook, socked feet tucked up under him on the couch, a light blanket thrown over his lap.
Vox sits on the other side of the couch, one leg crossed over the other casually as he does a sudoku in the morning paper. Vox is trying to be the king of media, but he can still appreciate a newspaper full of puzzles he doesn't know the answers to yet.
He taps the end of his pen against his lips in thought, and of course he does sudoku in pen because he thinks of every possibility for a square before writing down his answers.
And it's in this moment, snug indoors passively listening to music without talking to each other, being comfortable in the silence together, just existing in the same space together, that decides it for Val.
He's kissing Vox right now.
Because when has he ever been so comfortable around someone? Someone who is seeing him in a stretched out, faded Voxtech shirt? Someone who isn't chatting him up, feeling him up? It's domestic as fuck and Val is really, really into it.
He shifts to sit up, places his sketchbook and pencil on the coffee table. Vox looks over at him, pen scribbling a number onto his newspaper. He quirks an eyebrow up at Val.
He's wearing sweatpants and the shark socks Val got him as a gag gift for Sinsmas last year.
He has never looked hotter.
Val shifts closer.
Vox puts his paper and pen down on the armrest, turns towards Val.
“Are you getting hungry yet? I think I have ingredients for-”
But Val leans in, presses his lips to Vox's screen lips.
He keeps it simple, just a small peck. No tongue, no teeth, no moving fast.
It's weird kissing glass.
When he pulls back, Vox is looking at him stunned.
“Whaa?” He questions stupidly.
Val shrugs, looks away.
“Just wanted to know what it was like,” he says casually, like his heart isn't racing.
A moment of silence fills the space between them, and Val curses himself for ruining everything, for making things awkward.
He doesn't know how long he looks away, face burning, in shame, mortification or desire, he can't say.
And then…
“You… wanted to kiss me?”
He turns to Vox then, his face warmer than it should be.
“I've wanted to kiss you for a while,” he admits softly, as if just putting it out there gently will stop his heart from breaking.
Vox looks… stunned, really. His face is glowing with his blue blush Val finds so adorable, his antenna zapping sporadically.
“Val, I'm not-”
“I know,” Val says, “I just wanted… I don't know what I wanted,” he whispers, lower pair of arms wrapping around himself.
The silence is so tense.
“I'll just… go, now,” Val says, rising and looking for his boots.
“Wait.”
A large hand wraps around his wrist.
He looks up to see Vox, screen cheeks still overly saturated blue. What is Vox thinking right now? Is he angry, surprised? Val doesn't know.
“It was a mistake, let's just forget-”
“That wasn't a proper first kiss.”
Val blinks, drops the boot in his hand.
“What?”
“I said,” Vox says in a low voice, “that wasn't a proper first kiss.”
He pats the couch cushion next to him, screen ablaze.
Val moves wordlessly, sits on the couch beside Vox.
Vox moves a large, sharp- clawed hand to cup Val's face.
He could cut into Val so easily with those claws, crush his windpipe, rip out his eyes from their sockets. Torture him for even suggesting Vox was anything less than straight.
He doesn't, just holds Val's cheek gently, a thumb stroking over Val's bottom lip.
Val can feel his heartbeat kick into overdrive.
Vox looks uncertain, like he's fighting a war inside on whether this is allowed or not, but he must see something in Val's face, his breathlessness, his blush, maybe even Val’s own heartbeat, something that lets Vox know this isn't a cruel trick, that Val wants this kiss desperately, has been thinking about kissing Vox for forever.
Vox leans in slowly, eyes closing.
Val gives a shocked gasp, closes his own eyes in anticipation.
And then…
Vox's lips touch his.
It's different this time, Vox actively kissing him instead of Val surprising him. Val can feel Vox's lips this time, feel how gentle they are against Val's own, as if Vox needs a moment to get his bearings, build up his courage to kiss Val.
Val’s top pair of arms comes up to slowly wrap around Vox's neck loosely. Vox's hand on his face angles him a little, their lips part to allow their tongues to brush gently.
It's all so slow and gentle and Val has never been kissed like this before, has never had his face cradled like he was someone precious.
He's addicted to it.
He sighs into the kiss, tightens his arms around Vox's neck just a little.
And Val doesn't need things to go further tonight- he can be content with Vox kissing him like he's Vox's sweetheart, even if it's just for today and they never kiss again.
That's what he tells himself, anyway.
When Vox pulls back, Val's afraid the spell will be broken, that Vox will panic, will yell at him.
But Vox looks dazed, those antenna sparking cyan.
He leans in and presses a short, quick peck to Val's lips.
Val is sure he looks awestruck, can feel his wings fluttering traitorously.
“Can I make you dinner?” Vox asks, and it comes out soft, like he's afraid to break the moment too.
Val nods, head unconsciously leaning into the hand still against his cheek.
“Okay.”
Vox nods too, but doesn't move.
They just look at each other for who knows how long.
“Do you… want to sit on the counter and help me cut vegetables?”
Val grins, presses his forehead against Vox's screen one.
“I want to be wherever you are.”