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The strange thing was, Valentino disliked dreaming.
It was a gripe of his which usually went unsaid. Unsaid only because Valentino made an effort to steer clear the subject of dreaming, whether day or night, with his colleagues and friends; and if the sinner with whom Val conversed ever brought it up themselves… well, let’s just say Valentino had tricks — plunging into a sexual anecdote being the regular — which proved to be mighty distracting.
But every so often, the subject came into focus. ‘Fantasies’, ‘dreams’, ‘yearnings’ were all phrases commonly used in the workplace, and Val, titled as Hell’s Filmography Overlord, was at high-risk of collateral damage. But even these hazards could be avoided. With a few cleverly placed synonyms and an air of indifference, Valentino had successfully maneuvered through many conversations without great casualty. That was to say, none had yet asked his own opinion on the state, and he planned to continue this trend forever more.
Until…
“I had a dream about Vox last night.”
Now Valentino began the discussion himself.
The response: “Oh, like a nightmare?”
Said matter-of-fact, with a hint of deep sarcasm.
Valentino winced, tapping his phone.
“No. Like…”
“Like what? Out with it, babes. I’ve only got a couple minutes free.”
“Ugh! It was like…” Valentino’s voice lowered a breadth. Velvette was on the other line. He could hear her patience waning. “Like, an s-e-x dream.”
Silence.
Then some muffled (though strenuous) mutterings.
“Alright, Val. Come to my building straight-away.”
“This is a serious development, Valentino.” Velvette began, using a voice reserved for high-priority deals — and therefore reflecting the seriousness of her statement.
Valentino shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. It wasn't the environment which fueled his feelings. On the contrary, Velvette’s private quarters were preferred by Val over many other spaces (particularly Vox’s, which had about them an air of millennial sterility), what with their proclivity for pinks, purples and blacks, and Velvette’s love for maximalism. A love shared by them both, to be sure. In summary, Valentino should have felt happy to sit in Velvette’s common-room, adjacent her bedroom; though in reality a deep, unsettling hesitancy was nestling beneath his ribcage instead.
Velvette was seated across from him, leg swung up on her thigh. Like always; clad in a stunning, cinched suit, severe in all the right terms. As for her hair, it’d been pulled into a bun, edges laid. Vel looked good — but to be fair, the opposite was near unheard of.
Finding his nerve, Valentino swallowed before reasoning;
“It’s not that serious. I mean… I’m fine!” But as it was, his own attire betrayed. Another shared trait between the two was a lust for fashion, and Valentino could be observed still clad in well-loved PJ’s — having sprung out of bed, too unsettled to consider wardrobe — despite it being ten in the morning. Not to mention it a most damning nod towards ‘out-of-sorts’. Velvette, noticing this, glanced up and down with raised eyebrows.
“Sure, babes. I believe you. The plaid really sells it.”
Pausing to sip her tea, Velvette continued;
“The fact that you of all people couldn’t say ‘sex’ over the phone is worrying, Valentino. This dream has shaken you bad, hasn't it?”
Hesitating, Val nodded like a dog who’d pissed on the carpet.
“It’s not like I haven’t thought about you both before.” Catching Velvette’s look, Valentino hurriedly clarified; “No! Ugh! Not like that! But like… I imagine how it’d feel to have intimacy with every sinner. It’s part of my job description. To be clear, I don’t mean… er… woohoo-ing, more like… cuddling, or kissing, or petting a little. Nothing to throw a wobbly about. But er, this dream… it was… it was…”
Valentino smiled weakly, though the expression died beneath Velvette’s stare.
“I seriously hate to see you like this.”
“...like what?”
“All fluttery and slurring over words.”
“I am not!"
“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna cancel all my meetings and priorities until this evening — so will you. I’m gonna make us both tea or something fermented. We’ve got to talk about this, Val. Like, immediately. You look sea-sick!”
A pause.
“It’s probably just hemorrhoids."
Velvette blanched, but didn’t press further.
And so Confessor and Confidant began the process of Clearing Schedules. Valentino sighed, massaging his temple. Today was particularly jam-packed; while his studio produced various mags and movies every week, Hell’s lust was insatiable — and, paired with an incredible rebound period, it was all work-work-work for the moth demon, contrary to popular belief. However, having this talk with Velvette was important… last-nights dream weighed on Valentino's mind like a tick… itchy, twiggy, and most of all, burrowing. Burrowing being a strange word, yet apt.
Sighing with finality, Valentino flung his phone onto the far side of the couch, schedule cleared. Another trait which Val preferred about Velvette’s room — its abundance of soft furniture. Perhaps coming back with a box for a head had rendered Vox particularly pointy, but all his seats were shiny and plastic, and all his tables came with a razor-edge. Ugly, for starters, but above all, uncomfortable. Which was exactly what Val didn’t need, him being vulnerable at the moment.
Now that Valentino gave it some thought, there was hardly anything he liked more about Vox compared to his doll-friend.
Making the dream an even bigger mystery.
“God… all of our employees are useless.” Velvette muttered before throwing her phone away also. “But I’ve got Melissa brewing us a pot, and that swine from sixth floor scoping out the cellar. So.” Here she paused, arms crossed.
Valentino blinked.
“So?”
“Don’t tell me you’re useless, too! Fuck!” Vel reigned it in with a mighty inhale. “Sorry. Sorry. Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me what the dream was like.”
“Bebe, let’s not.”
“Then how the fuck are we meant to solve this!” Velvette threw up her arms — realised — then retracted. “Sorry, again. Aherm, what I meant was…”
Now Velvette reached across from her perch to lay a palm on Val’s knee. Valentino stared at her hand. He was fleetingly jealous of her manicure.
“What I meant to say was… you know me, Val. I kinda like you. You can talk to me. Just… go at your own pace, or whatever.”
“Ew. I don’t need therapy.” Valentino sniffed.
Admittedly, there was a pang of something sappy in his gut after Velvette’s words. Valentino had learnt on both Earth and Hell that therapy was a con-man's schtick — and by extension, any form of coddling, babying or comforting was just as phony. Even so, there was some extremely primal part of his being that yearned for the gentle tone which Vel now used… not successfully, or at least not entirely, but still there was some hint of affection in there deep. All at once intense longing burned in Valentino’s throat, and he looked away, coughing. Too many feelings, not enough alcohol. Although both would elicit the same reaction.
Letting Valentino’s dismissal plateau, Velvette beckoned to the sinner who stood at the door with their refreshments.
“We’ll be here all day if you don’t start talking.” She probed, handing Val a tea-cup.
Well. Valentino had called Vel for a reason.
“Fine, then. So, beyond the obvious this-being-a-sex-dream-about-Vox, there’s something else unsettling about all this which I think I should mention.”
“And what’s that?” Velvette’s eyes perked.
“Hmf.”
“Vaaalll…”
“God, I hate this. But basically, I’ve never talked about dreaming before because… well, I’ve never had a dream. Ever.”
A silence fell. Velvette, who’d been rimming the edge of her tea-cup with one fingernail, now stilled, lips primly taut. An embarrassed pink spattered itself on Valentino’s cheeks. It wormed in his belly. Shameful to the max.
“No need to get all pitiful on me, though. I’m used to it."
Valentino tried to meet Velvette’s gaze and was startled by her expression.
“No, seriously Vel! It’s whatever.”
But Velvette was shaking her head.
“Valentino, that’s weird as fuck.”
He’d expected sympathy to sound strange coming from a woman so keen on back-talking and scandal-mongering (yes, that ‘weird-as-fuck’ was indeed a stab at sympathy, at least coming from Velvette); but Valentino was pleased to hear the sensitivity which rang in Velvette’s voice. Not at all how he’d expected, but just as his body betrayingly craved. A great pressure released from Val’s shoulders. He felt he could actually breathe. At last.
“I guess it kind of is weird. It’s hard in the work capacity, as dreams and fantasy stuff always come into focus. And of course I don’t have anything to add, seeing as all my nights pass like… hmm, I wonder if I should do laundry tomorrow, or ooo, I’m kind of horny right now, or something sadder. Don’t know which is more terrifying—” A weak, trembling laugh “— those thoughts or my lack of dreaming, but yeah, not nice witnessing darkness and nothing else every time I close my eyes. Makes me feel like a freak.”
“I’d imagine so.” Said Velvette, thumbing Valentino’s knee again.
Presently Valentino breathed in deep, wondering how to continue. It seemed odd to transition from this topic to the dream… so different in nature that Val struggled to find the thread.
“Anywho…” Aha, there was the segway!
“Anywho… part of the reason this dream has freaked me out is because it’s my first. And I don’t know… it being, well, a sex-dream about Vox… has got me wondering if it meant something. But obviously not, that’s just paranoia talking.”
“Mhmmm.” Mused Velvette idly.
Val glanced up at her and swallowed.
“So, er, it started like this. I thought I’d woken up in real time, as I was lying in my bed. But then I turned over and Vox was there. Casually lying in my bed! And he was snoring — remember how we always said he’d be a snorer — the kind that could rattle a whore — but nope. He sounded like a bird. All twittery. It was weird. And then he woke up and turned to me.”
Here Valentino inhaled.
“He turned to me, and said something really sappy. Like, beyond it.”
“Go on.” Velvette encouraged with a budding smirk.
“He said something like… ‘Hey baby, how’d you sleep last night?’ And of course I have no idea what he’s talking about, but before I can respond he sort of grabs my forehead and kisses me right in the middle there.”
Valentino then gingerly probed; “Do you… do you imagine Vox would ever do something like that?”
Velvette shook her head, giggling.
“Hell no.”
A pause.
“Right. Yeah, me neither.”
There came a brief moment in which Valentino did in fact imagine. He’d made a rule to keep Vox and Vel from out of his elaborate erotic fantasies (while he didn’t dream often, Val was still particularly imaginative), but now the situation called for it; and as Valentino had already seen Vox in that light as of yesterday, to break this rule seemed easy, perhaps liberating. He could picture Vox now; leaning on his desk chair, small rings painted beneath each eye, a tired smile barely tugging at his lips; saying something sweet, like baby or sugar. The startling thing was, despite Velvette’s stead-fast belief in Vox’s lack of romance, when Valentino pictured said scenarios in his head, they seemed… real. Kind of complete.
Catching Velvette staring at him again, Valentino wondered whether her powers went beyond fashion and into the realm of telepathy.
“After kissing me, Vox clambered out of bed and disappeared off somewhere. I still thought I was awake — seeing as I never have dreams — and bebe, I was out-of-my-mind confused. Can’t fake that shit. But strangely, the only compulsion I had was to pursue Vox and follow up on his sappy words. It was like being mind-controlled, except…”
“Except?”
“...Except it wasn’t so bad.” Val confessed quietly.
Ew. Fuck. A shiver of warmth plumed in Valentino’s chest. There was something seriously wrong here, besides the obvious.
Velvette seemed to think so too, if the purse of her lips was anything to go by.
Hurriedly continuing, Valentino fumbled with the edge of his sleep-shirt;
“So that’s what I did. I found Vox in my kitchen, and he was, oh god, making breakfast. Half-naked in an apron and boxer shorts—”
Velvette snorted, then smiled apologetically—
“—and looking so charming as he did it. Think of the world’s most cliche breakfast; pancakes, eggs sunny-side up, marmalade toast. There was all of that, then some. And Vox was humming something as well, like he always does. Probably something stupid. Eventually, though, he asked; ‘Up already? I am easy to miss?’ and I guess I responded yes, cause then he kissed me again, but er, on the mouth this time. Then he kind of swept me up in his arms too, and placed me on the countertop.”
As Valentino neared the part of his story which could make a lesser man blush, he divvied up his options. The first; total TMI, no regard for what information was or wasn’t necessary. Or; a succinct, though accurate, retelling. The former was Val’s usual style, but there was something delicate about this particular situation. At the very least, Valentino’s heart was beating like a small, featherless bird, and that indicated vulnerability. It was this which cast the second option in a better light — that, and the thought of preserving Velvette’s sanity.
“I don’t exactly remember how we got there, but suddenly the kitchen was spotless, and it felt as though we’d eaten already, although I was sitting in the same place as before. Then Vox… he kind of started kissing down my neck, licking the skin a little, with this hungry look in his eye, all dominant and needy but also… devastatingly casual. Like we’d done this a million times. Like two old people who are horn-dogs despite having smashed it every day for the last century.”
“Ew! Cool it on the vocab, Val.”
“Sorry! Ok, so then Vox started stripping me of my clothes and it was after that when the ‘sex’ started. He was sucking down there… then somehow I was back on the bed getting fucked by him… then reverse… then—”
Velvette nodded. Meaning; ‘I get the gist.’
“And after fucking the last time and going in for cuddle, I woke up i-r-l and called you.”
Once ending, Valentino became aware of a blush which had steadily crept up his neck throughout the retelling. Odd; for the Filmography Overlord rarely blushed or even tinted. He was a man of stoic depravity. With an iron-hard stomach concerning romance and relations. But as it seemed, to talk of his own sleepy imaginings… particularly when they were so cheesy and sweet, the kind of thing which gave cavities… well, Valentino’s face was warm, and causing him some note-worthy discomfort.
Valentino shifted in his seat, fanning his face with a chuckle.
“Wow. It’s hot in here, isn’t it…”
“No wonder.” Velvette suddenly dead-panned.
Oh! Valentino stopped his fanning with a jump. There was a different quality to Velvette’s voice now. Gone were the gentle rolls of her tongue and breathy pauses. She was direct, a tad miffed, as was her common vocal setting. And while Valentino liked to think he still heard a dab of affection, it might’ve been the tea. Which tasted strong as anything; Valentino choked heavily when sipping on it.
“Ahem. What do you mean?” Valentino asked eventually, setting the cup down with a cough.
Well, that certainly wasn’t the correct choice of dialogue. The way in which Velvette inflated was in likeness to a puffer-fish.
“Oh my GOD! Jesus, Val. Quit being thick!”
“I’m a what?” Val recoiled indignantly, spreading his wings.
Velvette remained unfazed, springing out of her seat. Her chest heaved up and down with anger.
“I’m seriously, seriously, pissed off right now! I can’t believe that you’ve got a crush on Vox!”
“What!?” Valentino shrieked, springing up too.
There the two of them stood, at an impasse. Valentino willed himself to stand tall, though the intensity of Velvette’s dagger-like stare was enough to kill a stronger sinner. He had to stand tall — to do otherwise was to confirm Vel’s accusation. Which was, of course, incorrect.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re insinuating.” Valentino snapped, turning cold in his confusion.
Velvette didn’t relent, nostrils flared.
“Maybe it’s not obvious to you, Val — someone who's used to having his nose so far up another’s arsehole that he can’t see the light of day — but holyyyyyy shit. The way you were gushing… oh Vox, oh this, oh that…”
“What happened to being nice?” Valentino tried with a snubbed air.
But his passion for the argument was fading. What with Velvette’s sudden claim, the rush of adrenaline, and the wild beating of his chick-like heart, something else was stirring instead. Something old, though absolutely real.
“Oh my god.”
Valentino dropped back on the couch, helpless.
The knowledge: simple as bread and butter.
Velvette maintained her upright position a moment longer — chest still surging, eyes wide and rash with outrage — but upon observing Valentino’s loss of strength she eventually stilled, and slowly, slowly, lowered herself back down.
“You like Vox.”
Quite pathetically, Valentino nodded.
Apart from the revelation being so prolific that only a dunce could've missed it, Valentino was meant to be a kind of sexual guru (not a title he liked or so much as endorsed, but Hell seemed pretty snug with it); surely he couldn’t have failed to notice feelings for an old, white homophobe. But as it was, Valentino looked back on the dream with a different light… he noted how his heart clenched at Vox’s affection, the endearing jiggle of Vox’s hips as he hummed, and then the actions of far lesser purity…
“I can’t believe this has happened.” Valentino whimpered, voice thick and despairing.
Velvette nodded in agreement. Her eyebrows were knitted, and though her anger was rapidly cooling, the worried grimness which acted as substitute wasn’t much better. She took a sip of her tea, eyes darting in search of answers.
“Can I ask — now that the cats out of the bag — what’s there to like about old Voxxy-boy?”
Valentino raised his arms with exasperated weakness.
“That’s the problem! Literally what is there to like about him? He’s old, he’s white, he’s borderline racist, and he’s never given me the time of day. A 5 out of 10 on the looks-front. Out-dated to the max. Terrible, terrible fashion…”
Valentino ended his rambling with; “This is the most embarrassing crush I’ve ever had.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
Both Overlords sat in silence for a moment, each in their own deep thoughts. Valentino’s primary worry now became; where were the beverages which Velvette had promised? Sure, they’d been warmed up by cups of tea, but what Val required was something stronger… something which, he hoped, would burn the back of his throat and make the world fuzzy.
And buried beneath that complaint;
‘What the Hell am I going to do now?’
At last, Velvette asked the same question.
“I guess I could wait for it to go away. Most of my crushes do, you know.”
“Hmm. Somehow I doubt this one will be the same.” Responded Velvette unhelpfully.
That was true, although Valentino wished it weren’t. Their whole ‘partnership’ at VoxTek made this sitch particularly messy.
“Wait! I’ve got it! The solution is clear!" Velvette suddenly called, smirking wide.
“Oh, and what would that be?”
Schooling her expression, the woman gently prodded;
“...I think you’ve got to fuck him.”
A pause.
Valentino's face flushed.
“Ok, Vel, talk about stupid.”
“I’m serious!”
“You can’t be. You absolutely have to be joking.”
“I’m dead serious. While I think Vox is… unattractive, out of fashion, and below your station… maybe ‘living the dream’ might be your ticket. ‘Cause who knows if Vox would actually make you elaborate breakfasts and shower you with after-care? I don’t think so, but your subconscious certainly does.”
“Yeah… I guess it does, huh.”
“Exactly. And… God… you must think that way for a reason. Might as well check to see if it’s true. So go do it, Val. You’ve got this. He’s an easy man to woo. Just give him a flash of the Good-Stuff.”
Valentino gasped at that, clutching his chest.
“I’m not depraving myself in front of Vox!”
Velvette's grin widened.
“But you want to, don’t ya?”
This was a day of continuous absurdity. First the dream, now this. If Valentino had a weaker stomach he might’ve heaved, but as it was he remained precariously still. Mostly because he feared any movement would show that his heart-strings were being plucked, but also; Velvette’s solution rang with truth. Maybe he did need to have sex with Vox.
Valentino recalled their kitchen escapade.
No, he definitely needed to.
“Fine. I guess if I have to fuck him, I will…” Despite everything, Valentino made it a point to feign indifference.
As the two Overlords parted ways, Velvette couldn’t stop smirking.
What a fucking idiot.