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Vox straightens his suit lapels for the third time since he zapped down to his boyfriend’s manor in Greed. He takes another steadying breath, bracing his claws on the clown-themed door frame of Mammon’s office. He could still turn around. Return to Pride and pretend he’d never been here, ride his heat out alone.
His fans kick up. The very idea leaves his knees weak, and his inner Omega shrieks piteously at the thought. Normally, Vox would barricade himself in his room and wait for Val to help him through. He never really remembered the details of it, other than waking up on the third day purring and threatening to kill Valentino if he ever told anyone. It might have at one point been a threat, but somewhere into their fifty-year partnership, Vox felt it’d lost its edge. Now Valentino just chuckles at him, strokes his casing, and murmurs his agreement.
But that was before Mammon. Vox likes Val. He would prefer his business partner in one piece, and the Sin of Greed isn’t known for sharing.
Sure, he and Mammon haven’t really fooled around much beyond making out after especially intense contract negotiations, but Vox was well aware of how enticing his scent was. Salt water taffy and enough to make Alpha’s drool. At least that’s what Valentino told him.
So that left Vox in his current situation. Suffer it out alone or --Vox shudders-- honesty. He’s still debating with himself when his screen presses into something familiar and soft.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite moneymaker!” Mammon’s four arms wrap around him, lifting him off the ground and giving him a twirl, “wasn’t expecting you, babes.”
Vox lets his boyfriend’s overly enthusiastic hug continue for a few seconds longer than he usually would. He would never admit it out loud, but he wasn’t above a bit of cuddling, and with his current hormones, he practically melts into the strong hold; his chest rumbling, threatening to make a purr escape his lips before Vox manages to get his instinct back under control.
He wriggles. “Enough, put me down,” Vox says, pushing against Mammon’s chest. Reluctantly, Mammon sets him down, keeping one of his hands on his waist. Vox rocks, steadying himself. His legs feel more like jello than ever.
“Okay, don’t be a fucking downer,” Mammon grins at him. What’s the occasion, babe?”
“Mams, I have something I need to tell you.” His screen is grey, flickering between his usual bright blue and the dull monochrome. He fidgets, twiddling his thumbs together.
“Yeah, find a new way to fuck people out of their money with me?” Mammon asks. Of course, that’s where his boyfriend’s mind was. Normally, Vox would appreciate it; fucking people over with Mammon was fun, even if they had different ideas about how to maintain their brands.
But now he wasn’t really in the mood. He glances down the hallway and sees a few imp servants milling around. “Can we go somewhere more private?” Vox asks, tugging at his collar. His fans are barely doing their job, and he’s just started pre-heat. This is going to be miserable.
Mammon looks around. Then his eyes narrow. “Got it, secret plan. Can’t have any of these cunts trying to steal it.” Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate, but it was close enough. So he let his boyfriend scoop him up and back track into his office, slamming the door behind them. He sets Vox into the only other plush chair in the room apart from Mammon’s. Vox had insisted on it after their third date, even if Mammon made him pay for it. The TV Overlord would be double damned before he sat on a cheapass, hard plastic seat. “Okay, out with it, Voxxy. I’m on the edge of my seat. What do you have for me?”
Vox fidgets, running his claws along the familiar brown leather. Not meeting Mammon’s gaze. “I’m an omega.” He admits his shoulders hunching in making him look even smaller, while he tries to retreat into his chair.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Vox blinks slowly, once, then twice. Not the reaction he was expecting. He raises his eyes, surprised to see a genuine look of confusion on Mammon’s face. The Sin of Greed drums two sets of fingers on his wooden desk.
“No, wait, I got this, look, babes, omega like the…” Mammon thinks for a second, snapping his fingers when “ the end.”
Vox feels his anger rise. His nerves disappear as he watches his boyfriend be an ass about his designation while his insides slowly try to cook him alive until he gives in and someone humps him. “This isn’t a time to joke, you clown! I missed my suppressants and am about to go into heat.”
Mammon reaches one of his hands out, resting it on his boyfriend’s screen. He flinches back at the temperature. Vox feels a sick twist of smug enjoyment at that. Serves the asshole right.
Then the room is spinning again as green and gold crowds his vision. He’s in Mammon’s lap. His four hands roam over him. Vox lets out a whimper that feels good. He leans into it.
A hand is back on his screen. “You have a fever! Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Are you going to die?! Fuck, sinners are so fragile! My stuff isn’t allowed to die! I’ll take care of you.” Mammon squeezes him harder.
“Air! Air!” Vox cries, panting and struggling until finally Mammon loosens his grip. His chest spasms as his gills try to catch up. He feels dizzy and weak.
“I’m not sick,” Vox says, opting to lie limply in the Sin of Greed’s arms, “Like I said, I’m about to go into heat.”
Mammon doesn’t say anything for a beat and then says, “I’m calling Belphegor. She’ll fix you right up!”
“Fix me?” Vox splutters, “What are you…”It slowly dawns on him. Mammon doesn’t know what’s going on. “Do you not have a secondary gender?”
“A gender? Sure, I’m Greed.”
Vox sighs and clarifies, “No, like Alpha, Beta, or,” he gestures to himself, “Omega.”
Mammon tilts his head in confusion. Well, this was great.
“I’m an Omega,” Vox says slowly. He doesn’t have time to explain the intricate hierarchical social structures of designations, so he gets straight to the point. “I go into heat. I need someone to fuck me, once every couple of years, or my brain melts out of my ports. I was hoping you could help me with that.”
“Oh,” Mammon says, and he looks far less enthused by this revelation. “Babes, I don’t really do that shit.”
“What?” Static laces across Vox’s voice and screen.
Mammon waves one of his hands. “I don’t do sex.” Mammon clarifies, “Too many sticky things.” He shudders, “Now don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to sell it. I’ll even hook you up with a Fizzy doll if that will help, but it’s not for me.”
Vox’s screen takes a second to buffer at the revelation. His internal temperature climbs, and he silences a few warnings. He laughs. What else could he do? He’d come all this way to dig out his most well-kept secret, and apparently, he should have just stayed home with Val.
Mammon reaches down and tilts his head back. “Babe, you still there? You’re not looking too hot--er, well, you are, but I think that’s the problem.”
“I’m fine.” He’s not. If Vox had more energy, he would swat at the hands, but as it is, he feels wrung out and just wants to suffer alone in his nest. The chances of him having the control to zap his way through the airwaves right now are low to none, though. “Why didn’t you tell me you were asexual?”
They’d been together for almost a year and a half now. He’d figured Mammon was taking it slow. He was ancient after all, and Vox in his younger years had spent long enough pining for Alastor that a dry spell wasn’t going to stop him.
Mammon tilts his head again, in what unfortunately is becoming a familiar gesture. It’d be cute if Vox wasn’t feeling more like shit by the second.
“Let me guess, you don’t know that word either. I-” A glitch runs through his screen, and Vox shudders as he feels a trail of slick run down his leg. “We should talk about all of this later. Right now, you have about fifteen minutes to either take me to Valentino or lock me up in one of your rooms before I make things messy.”
That gets Mammon’s attention, and he stands, gently holding Vox in his lower arms as he chews on his bottom lip, deliberating.
“You sure I can’t just call Belph?” Vox shakes his screen and plants it into Mammon’s chest, as he weakly tries to search out a scent to coat himself in. Not finding anything, he whines loudly.
“Right! Yup, got it. Take you to your horny business partner or your brain melts.” With a snap of the Sin’s fingers, and far less fanfare than usual, Mammon opens a golden portal to Pride.
Vox comes back to himself on the third day. It smells like cherries and chocolate. He breathes in the familiar scent, relaxing as he opens his eyes and sees Valentino’s heart-themed decor. Valentino is lying beside him, one of his arms still wrapped around his waist.
“Aye, Carino,” He croons, “Back to your senses?”
Vox grunts and forces himself up. He feels sore and boneless in the best way. His body and instincts were exhausted but satiated. Mammon must have gotten him here and found Val. Vox doesn’t remember any of that. Shit, he hopes he didn’t do anything embarrassing to Mammon when he was a horny fucking ball of urges.
“You know, I was worried I’d have to give this up if you started getting serious with your new boyfriend, I mean Voxxy, you should watch the recording, you are so sexy when you get all primal. The stuff of alpha’s dreams,” Vox shoots him an unamused glare, “But your boyfriend, I think he’s a keeper,” Valentino says casually as he plays with Vox’s antenna, rolling the ball at the end between his fingers.
That makes Vox raise an eyebrow. It wasn’t that Valentino and Mammon didn’t get along. They did kind of, or Vox would have never allowed his feelings to get as far as they did if it was going to cause his business problems. But Valentino had never exactly expressed approval. He mostly needled Vox on how the non-existent sex they had was, which in retrospect should maybe have clued Vox into that he should have had a conversation with Mammon about that way earlier.
“Why do you say that?”
“Besides the point that he delivered you to me practically wrapped up with a ribbon right when you were ready to climb me like a tree?” Vox waits; he knows Val is just pausing to be dramatic, as he lets out a puff of red smoke before he continues, “he told me it better be the best fucking sex of your afterlife, or he’d kill me, and then he even offered to pay me.” Valentino waves a hand, “As an incentive to make sure it was.”
That made Vox pause, and then a light teal blush spread across his screen. Mammon never spent money.
Never.
He hoarded it. It was in his very nature. Vox usually paid for everything, which he didn’t mind at all. He was rich and liked to flaunt it. Mammon also got this cute little giddy look whenever Vox bought him things. It was a nice change being able to provide for a partner without it being a dominance thing or having to deal with pushy alphas.
“Did you take the money?”
Valentino laughs. “Of course I took it! Who do you think I am, Vox? Sex is my business, and you’d bite my head off if I didn’t!”
Vox nods and grins. His heart is so full it’s practically dancing in his chest. Damn right he would! But he’d also be happy to help Mammom make the deal of the century for this!