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The studio audience cheered and applauded as Valentino stepped out onto the ‘Vox2nite’ set. The talk show’s live band played slinky, jazzy music for his entrance: he stopped halfway to the interview couch, posed a few times, then twirled, letting the bottom of his black dress swish around his legs. The twirls were for Vox; Holo-Vox was on stage, too, but as far as Valentino knew, Holo-Vox didn’t care how his ass looked in a skirt. Valentino made hearts with both sets of hands, then kissed his upper hands and threw those kisses to the audience while his lower hands waved.
Vox had moved from behind his desk to shake Valentino’s hand, just like he’d said he would. Vox had choreographed every single moment of the talk show. He’d sent Valentino the questions he was going to ask then made Valentino send his answers back earlier today. He’d even sent back edited versions of Valentino’s answers that met Vox’s standards, which Valentino hadn’t read. And Valentino got off easy; Vox usually hypnotized his guests to get the patter he wanted out of them.
Vox shook his hand and squeezed his shoulder, his screen turned to the centre camera. “Valentino, everybody!” he said; the audience roared in response. He led Valentino to the interview couch, where Holo-Vox made room for him. It was like Vox didn’t trust him to sit on a couch on his own. Everything had to be just how Vox wanted it.
The live band stopped playing and the audience died down as Vox sat behind his desk.
“Congratulations on the success of your latest film, Val,” Vox said. “‘Wedding Day Dick Down’ is a runaway hit!”
“Thanks, Vox!” He beamed at the audience. “And thanks to the fans for all your support! I see you, you horny little freaks!”
The audience whooped and cheered again. Even if they didn’t, Vox could get them clapping like seals with one command. Didn’t he ever get bored?
“You even submitted ‘Wedding Day Dick Down’ for awards consideration for Best Film at the Voxxies,” Vox said. Valentino’s films always won unless Vox was mad at him that awards season. “Why this film in particular?”
Valentino opened his mouth the say the answer he’d sent Vox earlier today. But a wave of weariness made him pause. Every time he went on Vox’s talk show, it was the same tightly controlled experience. Why not spice things up? So, instead, he said the truth: “It’s a very personal film. I based a lot of details on my own wedding. I was married in a church just like in WD3—as we call it around the studio—and my wedding colours were red and white. Oh,” he smirked at the audience, letting them in on the joke, “and my best man also blew me just before the ceremony. That, too.”
The crowd ooohed, hooted and whistled.
When Valentino looked back at Vox, he was staring at him with his mouth open, blinking.
Holo-Vox knew not to leave any dead air. “Gee, Valentino, did your bride run off with the priest, too?”
“Maria barely let me score even with a ring on her finger—no way would she let a priest. What can I say? We were young and in love, but we weren’t right for each other. The marriage only lasted a year or two.” Or maybe three or five. Valentino wasn’t the best with exact dates, and his time on Earth grew hazier as his afterlife went on. He vaguely recalled screamed arguments, tearful apologies, confessions of indiscretions to his priest, looks of disappointment on his parents’ faces, and visits from his priest and his family as he struggled to balance being a husband with the demands of film school and holding down a job as a waiter.
As Vox started talking to try and regain control, a sudden idea made Valentino add, “She got the kids in the divorce, unfortunately. Mis pobres hijos!” He managed to get through it without cracking up.
Vox was so surprised he stopped speaking. Valentino couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten Vox to stop talking—not outside of the bedroom, anyway.
The crowd said a sad “Awwww,” all at once. All without a prompter or Vox’s hypnosis, too. He had them eating out of the palm of his hand.
Valentino couldn’t stop himself: he giggled, his lower arms hugging his sides. “Voxxy, your fucking face! No, I’m just bullshitting you—we didn’t have kids. If she let me hit it more than once a year, we might’ve.”
Vox blurted out, “You never thought to mention you were married until now, on live television? We’ve known each other for decades!”
“You never asked.” He examined his golden nail-guards on the fingers of his upper hands. “Maybe ask yourself why you only ask about my life on your talk show.”
“I assumed we’d covered the greatest hits by now after over 30 fucking years! Val, what the fuck?”
Holo-Vox quickly spoke up. “Woah, getting a little heated there, chief! Valentino, what was your favourite part of filming WD3?”
“One sec, HV.” He faced Vox, leaning over the couch and onto Vox’s desk to get close enough to pat Vox’s arm. “I didn’t mean for it to be a big secret. My marriage was a small part of my life. Just some weird, crazy thing that happened to me when I was 20, and then it was over. I guess I don’t think of it much when I think of my life on Earth. But I’m sorry I brought it up now, partner.” He pouted. “Forgive me?”
“Of—of course, Val.” Vox glanced at some index cards on his desk then flashed the audience a winning smile. “So, what do you think your chances are to win Best Film?”
Valentino stuck to the script the rest of the interview.
Vox and Val signed autographs and took photos with fans afterward. As the last audience-members filed out, Val was lying on the couch as he sketched something on a notepad, his legs on Holo-Vox’s lap. The skirt of his dress was hiked up enough to show a flash of his black, rhinestone-studded thong.
Vox sat behind his desk, enjoying his post-show cigarette and not rising to Val’s pathetically obvious bait. Ethan stood nearby in case he needed anything.
Holo-Vox’s AI was programmed to pay attention to guests. “What’ve you got there, Valentino?” Did he even realize the show was over and the cameras weren’t rolling?
“Oh, here.” He passed Holo-Vox his notepad. “What do you think?”
“Wow, that’s great! I love the shading on the ass-cheeks! I don’t think we can air that, however. But maybe I could keep it for my personal collection.”
“Ooo, sure, Holo-Voxxy! Here, let me draw you a few more.” Val took his notepad back and began sketching.
Personal collection? Where the fuck did that come from? Holo-Vox didn’t exist when he wasn’t on stage.
“Where do you get inspiration for your art, Valentino?” Holo-Vox asked.
“Oh, my art can come from anywhere! Sometimes it’s about expressing a feeling, sometimes it’s based off a dream I had....” Vox tuned out Val’s juvenile babbling.
Val had been married. He still couldn’t believe it. Somehow Val, the manchild who skated blissfully through life, had hit a milestone Vox hadn’t. He’d certainly tried. He’d had girlfriends—the longest lasting ones were Patty in high school, Carol in his 20s, and Edith in his 30s. He’d bought Edie an engagement ring and everything. But none of those women had appreciated his dedication to his education and, later, his career. And Edie had started being Nancy fucking Drew instead of applauding her fiancé’s many promotions, so he’d had to deal with her.
The last audience-member left.
“Finally,” Vox muttered. He pushed his chair away from his desk to give Val space to join him. “Babe.”
Val’s pencil didn’t stop moving. “Mm, I’m busy.”
He let a little annoyance seep into his tone: “Babe.”
“If you’d really wanted us to fuck, you’d have hypnotized the audience and made them all run away. Now, I’m busy.”
The fucking brat was always asking Vox to prove his devotion, like he expected Vox to drop everything anytime he batted his eyes. Nothing was ever good enough. “I didn’t want to deal with any trampling victims. All that whining about ‘get me an ambulance’ is so fucking annoying.”
“Really? It usually gets you harder.”
He wasn’t wrong. But he hadn’t wanted to deal with it today. Fuck it, Vox was allowed to enjoy a cigarette and decompress for a moment. “Val, get over here.”
“Mm, nope!” He sat on Holo-Vox’s lap. Holo-Vox’s expression didn’t change from his pleasant smile; he didn’t have the parts or programming to enjoy a lanky slut on his lap. “He shows an interest. He listens. Asks questions not just for his talk show.” He draped himself over Holo-Vox, going back to sketching with his upper arms. “He’s my favourite Vox now.”
“No, he isn’t—he doesn’t have a dick.”
“Mm, he’s got fingers, doesn’t he? And a tongue. A dick’s not everything.”
Vox waved his hand, and Holo-Vox vanished. As Val snapped “Hey!”, Vox’s head buzzed. He checked his internal logs: Velvette was calling. He declined the call. He’d talk to her after getting laid. Cables slid out of his back, wrapped around Val, lifted him off the couch and onto Vox’s desk. Vox grabbed Val’s notepad and tossed it aside.
Val tsked. “No respect for my creative work. HV, he respects my art.” But even as he whined, he bit his lower lip and ran the toe of his boot along the inside of Vox’s thigh.
“You fucking brat,” Vox breathed as he laid Val down on the desk. “How’re the ratings, Ethan?”
“Great, sir!” This wasn’t surprising; VoxTek controlled most of the media in Hell, after all. There was the slightest of hesitations before he added, “Better than usual.”
“Hardly a surprise—people love award shows.” Vox leaned over the desk and began kissing Valentino. Then he thought about Ethan’s response again. As he hiked Valentino’s dress up, he asked, “That is the reason we’re doing so well, right?”
Again, a fraction of a pause before Ethan said, “I don’t have that kind of data yet. Velvette will in the morning, though.”
A horrible thought crossed Vox’s mind: Valentino had gone off-script, leaving Vox gaping like an idiot. Cold burst from his stomach and tingled along his limbs. He stood up, leaving Val blinking as he lay sprawled out on the desk. “Ethan, are we popular because I’m in some fucking fail compilation?” He glanced at Val; he’d strangle the fucker to death if Ethan said yes.
“No! No, sir. Of course not.”
“Then what’s—” Vox’s head buzzed; another attempt from Velvette to call him. She wouldn’t bother him this late unless it was about something important. He summoned a screen and set it above his desk.
Velvette was sitting at her desk in her office. “Just wanted to talk to you now instead of you going online and calling me when I’m in bed. These numbers are fucking wild! Mostly because the internet thinks you and Val are shagging, but that ain’t the crisis you might think.”
But he’d tried so hard not to look at Val’s ass. Had his gaze slipped down there when a camera was on him? That fucking twink and his slutty dress....
Velvette disappeared from view and the screen showed a selection of posts on various platforms.
Part of his show had become a meme, which wasn’t unusual. The video was himself staring at Val, shocked, as Val laughed at him. The text of the meme read ‘When bro drops that childhood trauma and laughs about it’.
That part was fine. Vox read the other posts:
OMG they were business partners!
An image of a blonde human woman speaking into her cellphone, with text reading: I’m going to give the gays SO MUCH VOXVAL
#Voxxy #Voxxy #Voxxy VAL SAID IT WE ALL HEARD IT STATICMOTH NATION KEEPS WINNING
An image of Val with his hand on Vox’s arm above a second image of a blonde human man with the text ‘Finally, some good fucking food’.
Guys, what’s gayer—a pride parade or whatever just happened between the Vee boys on #V2N?
A gif of Fizarolli juggling on stage with the text ‘Radiostatic shippers rn’.
Fellas, is it gay to tease your business partner of 30 years and then lean your whole ass off the couch just to touch his arm and stare into his eyes with all the love and reassurance a soul can possess?
There were more, but Vox couldn’t absorb them. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He reached backward, pulled his chair toward him with numb fingers, and sat down. Val got off his desk and sat sideways on his lap, a familiar weight. Val stroked his shoulders with his upper hands, back and forth, back and forth. The gentle pressure loosened the tightness in his throat enough to say, “Um, okay.”
Velvette reappeared on screen. “Don’t overreact, Vox.” Her tone was calm and confident. “Nobody knows anything. This is just the internet going mad because imagining two blokes shagging is hot—particularly two blokes as fit as you and Val. People ship popular people together all the time. A lot of them ship all three of us together, actually. And look at the these fucking numbers, mate!”
The numbers were triple last years award season show.
“Woah,” Vox murmured. A surge of heat broke through the cold of his body. His cock twitched in interest. Val must’ve felt it against his thigh; his lower hands dropped below the desk to rub his cock gently over his clothes. “All that from Val and me chatting? We didn’t even do anything, uh, romantic.”
“That’s the best part—you don’t have to do anything romantic, really.” Warmth settled at the base of his spine. “When you’re in public, just touch each other now and then, hold each others’ gazes, smile at each other, and the fujoshis do the rest.” He tried not to gasp and forced himself to pay attention to Velvette. “Once you get enough of a following, the romance takes on a life of its own, and you have plausible deniability.”
“The fujoshis?”
“It’s a Japanese term for straight girls who fangirl over relationships between men. Of course, you’ve got a substantial queer following, too. And—Val, for fuck’s sake, could you keep all four of your hands above the desk?”
Vox had really hoped she hadn’t noticed. Val said, “Just don’t look, prude,” but Vox lifted both Val’s hands off his cock and put them on the desk with an embarrassed cough.
“So,” Vox said, “sinners think Val and I are in some sort of relationship, but this is good because sinners are horny.”
“You’re getting it, V! And some of the art and fics are fire.” Velvette disappeared to show off a site called ‘fanfiction.voxtek.net’ with the heading “RPF Vox/Valentino”. The fanart was both quite good and—his stomach jolted—quite graphic.
“I’ve actually gotten some ideas from fanart,” Val said. “And once I figure out knotting and heats, I’m locking you in a room for a week.”
“What?”
“Although you’d have to be okay with some temporary body modifications, since of course you’d be the one knotting me.”
“Really?” Velvette asked. “I’ve always seen him as an omega who has to fake it.”
“Ooo, you know, now that I’m thinking about it, I see it!”
“Ethan, what do you think?” Velvette asked, smiling broadly.
“I couldn’t say.”
“Yeah, you fucking can. You do know I have access to your history on fanfiction.voxtek.net?”
Ethan’s cheeks coloured. “Um, he’s an alpha, of course.”
Vox blinked at Ethan. “You read smutty stories about me and Val?” Why the fuck would he need to? He’d seen them fuck in person more than once.
Val grinned. “Ethan, you dirty bitch, you know you can always join us!”
“He cannot!” Vox snapped.
“I don’t read fic about real people,” Ethan said quickly. “It’s just about anime characters. And it’s not all smut. There’s this great coffeeshop AU for ‘Naruto’ that—”
Velvette scoffed, and Ethan fell silent.
“I have no idea what any of you are talking about,” Vox said. “Can we make money off these freaks?”
“We can make some cheap shit through one of the shell companies and sell it as fan-created merch.”
“Relationships have merch?”
“Oh, mate.” Velvette sighed, looking between him and Val fondly. “Every day I look at the two of you and remember Hell must be punishing me. Do you have any idea how marketable you two are, V? You’re a classic duo! Tall and short—”
“I’m seven feet fucking tall!”
“The grumpy one, the sunshine one. Masc and femme. The red gay and the blue gay. The serious one and the goofy one.”
“Wait, Val’s the goofy one?” Vox laughed. “I’ve seen him beat a man to death with his bare hands! He shot one of his crew the other day for bringing him the wrong drink.” He squeezed Val’s hip and caressed his chin. “I wouldn’t have brought you into VoxTek if you weren’t a fucking monster, babe.”
Val grinned and kissed him, wriggling happily. Vox kissed him back, chuckling into Val’s mouth.
Velvette spoke over them. “They’re just stereotypes, V—marketable stereotypes. I know you’re more than one thing, but your fans don’t. They kinda don’t even want to. It’s sexier if you play into the archetype.” She fell silent for a moment then hummed thoughtfully. “If you wanted to go official, fuck, your wedding would break the internet. Right, Val?”
“Oh, uh, whatever,” Val said distractedly. He undid Vox’s bowtie and pulled down Vox’s cravat.
Remembering his interview with Valentino that had kicked off this whole conversation, Vox asked, “You weren’t married on Earth, were you, Velvette?” He craned his head awkwardly so Val could kiss up and down his neck.
“Nah. Was talking marriage with my girlfriend, but we didn’t have any real plans.” She eyed him. “You’re good, Vox?”
Vox gave her a thumbs up as Val swung in front of him, legs on either side of his hips, their crotches pressed against each other’s. Vox leaned to the side to get a view of the floating screen. “We’ll, uh, talk tomorrow, Velvette. Thanks.”
The screen vanished as she ended the call. Val filled his vision as they kissed again. Vox let himself daydream: charging exorbitant prices for the public to watch the livestream of his and Val’s wedding. Cameras flashing. Vee Tower decked out in blue and red—those would be their perfect wedding colours. All of Hell’s eyes on them. And, of course, Val. “You’d look hot as fuck in a wedding dress, babe.”
“Mmhm.” Surprisingly, Val didn’t gush with ideas or start talking about wedding colours or decorations. He just pulled Vox into a long kiss.
Vox broke the kiss to ask, “What, you don’t want to get married?” in what he hoped was a light tone.
“No.” Val began kissing up and down his neck.
Vox moved his neck away from Val’s mouth. “Why the fuck not?” If Val said something about Angel Dust, Vox was going to electrocute him.
Val huffed. “I already married a wife who never let me have fun when I was alive. I’m not doing it again when I’m dead. At least you’re not frigid—so, we’d fuck all the time, but forget me fucking anyone else. Your ego couldn’t take it. If I didn’t give up my freedom for Maria—who loved me, even if she couldn’t fuck me, who my parents approved of, who was a good fucking person—then I’m not giving it up for you, who’s none of those things!
“Besides, you’re not serious. Nobody goes from buried in the closet to marriage. We already got lots of attention and we didn’t do shit—we don’t need to get married to get more ratings, which is all you care about. Now, are we making out or not, cabrón? Because I can get it from anyone.”
Static distorted Vox’s screen and electricity snapped along his monitor. Vox had tried to engage in a little sexy banter, and Val, self-absorbed as ever, had dragged all this shit into it. Some stupid bitch Vox had never met had her claws in him. For some reason, he’d even brought up his parents, who weren’t even in Hell as far as anyone knew. And just to twist the knife, he’d added that last part: that he could fuck anyone. Shoving his popularity in Vox’s face. Let him fucking try.
“Get the fuck out, shit-head!”
Glowering, Val stood and stormed off, jabbering in Spanish as he went. Only once Valentino had slammed the door did it hit him that he’d lost his chance to get laid for the evening, and he was still semi-hard. Fuck.
“Fucking asshole. Can you believe that guy?” He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. A few more drags on his cigarette calmed him enough to say, “Ugh, I don’t want to make this a whole thing. Ethan, get him the usual for tomorrow afternoon. Last time I gave him...?”
“Jewellery, sir.”
“Clothes this time, then. And some flowers from Gluttony. He likes it when I make an effort. Do a first draft of the card. ‘Sorry for whatever fucking thing I said, you oversensitive cunt.’ But nicer.”
“Do you want me to mention marriage, sir?”
“What?” Now that Val wasn’t sitting on his lap looking fuckable, the thought of marrying that brain-dead moron made Vox blush. He imagined the local overlord meeting and Alastor’s smug smirk as he talked wedding plans; his skin went clammy and cold. When he tried to picture an actual marriage between him and Val, his mind was ominously blank. “Uh, no. That was....” Vox had no idea why he’d entertained the idea, and Ethan didn’t require an answer to do his job. “Never mind.”
“I’ll have it ready before breakfast, sir.”
Vox grunted. He shifted awkwardly in his seat. He’d been looking forward to fucking Val all day. “I’ve got another job for you first.” He glanced at his lap.
With a brisk nod, Ethan put his tablet away and slipped beneath Vox’s desk. He wasn’t the best at sucking Vox off, but he’d do in a pinch.
Vox brought up a screen with his ratings, undid his pants and leaned back in his chair as Ethan got to work.