Archive of Our Own

When Vox first got to Hell, he thought the idea of not being able to die was a pretty sweet deal. After all, his grand plans on Earth had been cut short by his untimely death, so logically, without the threat of death, there should be nothing to stop him, right?

Unfortunately, he soon became aware of the cruel irony of the situation. It hadn’t occurred to him until the first time some low-level thug working for some other overlord had shot him execution-style, that he could still suffer. And then it all started to fall into place. You couldn’t die from lack of sleep, but insomnia would still drive you mad. You couldn’t starve to death, but you could still waste away to a pathetic husk. You couldn’t drown, but the feeling of suffocation would make you wish you could.

Worst of all, Vox had discovered a new angle to this suffering: He could still worry.

Back on Earth, he never had this problem. He never met anyone he cared enough for to feel any concern for them. The only reason other people made him worry was on Earth, back at the beginning of his ascension, and he’d gotten over that silly little quirk after the second time he got away with murder. And even now in Hell, he refused to admit that there was anyone who could make him worry. Worse still, he wasn’t worried about them as an adversary. He was worried about their well-being.

Few people in Hell knew how Valentino had died, though there were many rumors. Vox had heard whisperings of how it may have happened, from rotting away from an untreated STD to being shot by a jilted lover. No one had guessed the truth yet. Vox only knew from an incredibly rare moment of vulnerability where Valentino had let something slip that he didn’t mean to, and had Vox sworn to secrecy. Not even Velvette knew.

 Valentino was shut up in his workspace today. He’d gone in there early that morning. Vel had gotten trending data that Valentino was using against the 70 or so scripts that had come in last week to choose the ten best ones based on what was popular at the moment. And though he was supposed to compare the niches noted on the covers to the current trends, in reality he had no head for metrics and usually went with his gut. Valentino had been doing this long enough so that he knew what would sell and what wouldn’t, and this usually never took him more than an hour. Today, he’d been at it for about three and a half.

Vox stood outside the door, clutching a delivery bag in his hands. Just go in all casually, he instructed himself. No big deal, drop it off, head on out, done. Like any other day. With all of the confidence at his disposal, Vox pushed the door open and sauntered into the middle of the room. “Hey, Val, how’s it going?”

“Ugh.” Valentino threw his head back. He’d had his nose buried in a script with two more in his lower hands, and Vox realized he’d broken Valentino’s concentration. “I don’t have time right now. Everything they sent to me is garbage. This is the least sexy crop I’ve ever harvested. It’s like I’m trying to harvest plump, juicy tomatoes and they sent me... barley. Have you ever tried jacking it to barley? It doesn’t work.”

“Can’t say that I have.” Vox dropped the bag on top of several discarded scripts. “I brought you lunch.”

“Thank you, flaquito. Now shoo. Don’t you have work to do? Wait, what is it you do here?”

“Hilarious.” Vox opened the bag. “Look. I got you nachos from that Mexican place you love. And horchata from the other one. I don’t know why you don’t order from the one place, but here you go.”

“The nacho place doesn’t have good horchata-a-a-a,” Valentino said in the whiniest voice possible. Vox’s eye twitched. Yep, Valentino was in a mood.

“Well. I had the two delivery drivers race to get here, and only the first one got a tip. I know you like it that way, too.” Vox wasn’t even sure why he did that when Valentino couldn’t confirm it actually happened, but Valentino said he could “taste it” when delivery drivers weren’t working hard enough. Vox wondered how much spit was in the food that came to V Tower. Although knowing Valentino, that might be part of the appeal.

“Okay, thank you.” Valentino shooed Vox away with one of the scripts.

Vox didn’t move. He was still standing like he usually did, chest out, hands behind his back, looking straight down at Valentino.

Valentino huffed. “What? Are you waiting for me to blow you or something? I said thank you, didn’t I?”

“Aren’t you going to eat it?”

“Yes. I will. When I’m hungry.” Valentino flipped open another script and pretended to start reading.

Vox nudged the bag closer to Valentino. “Val. I know you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

“So? I had a big dinner last night, you know I don’t need too much to keep going, baby.” Valentino gave Vox his best bedroom eyes, as if he could use seduction to get himself out of this. Which usually worked, except that today Vox had steeled himself against exactly this possibility.

“Really?” Vox’s tone was unamused. “Because you weren’t at dinner last night.”

Valentino clicked his tongue. “I don’t have to eat with you and Velvette, you know. I ate later.”

“Oh, yeah? What time? What did you have?”

Valentino stared blankly. The gears behind his eyes didn’t seem to be turning very fast.

“Come on.” Vox pulled out the nachos. “You love these. Just like abuela used to make or whatever.”

Valentino couldn’t technically roll his eyes, but his head certainly made the accompanying gesture. “That’s not even close to how you pronounce that.”

“Val. Show me your ribs.”

Vox put on his sultry face with the wicked grin that had served him so well all these years. “Oh? You looking for a little snack yourself?” He flicked his tongue and winked.

Vox pulled Valentino up out of his chair. Valentino used that opportunity to press himself against Vox, his lower hands reaching behind Vox as Valentino began grinding against him.

Instead of returning the affection, Vox pushed Valentino back and popped the buttons on his shirt open. “I knew it.” He rubbed the dip in Valentino’s stomach all the way up to his visible lower ribs, then ran his thumb across them. “Val, you can’t keep doing this.”

Valentino squeaked and pulled himself away from Vox. He pulled his shirt closed and wrapped his wings around himself as he turned away. “Well, now you don’t get to look at it.”

“Come on, Val, you never mind showing off your body.”

Valentino’s arms were crossed tight across his front. “Yeah. Because it’s hot. But if you’re not going to appreciate it then you can just look at my wings.”

Vox was getting frustrated, and his voice reflected that. “What do I have to do to get you to eat these nachos? Do I have to cover my body in hot cheese and have you lick it off?”

Valentino glanced over his shoulder with a bored expression. “I mean, if that gets you off.”

“Val!” Vox’s voice distorted as he shouted.

Valentino reached for something to throw. Scripts weren’t very aerodynamic, but they were all he had in arm's reach, so he flung two of them towards Vox. They bounced off of Vox’s chest uselessly as Valentino turned to storm away. Before he got more than two stomps away, Vox grabbed Valentino’s wrist and yanked him back.

“Let go of me!” Valentino smacked Vox across the screen as hard as he could, cracking the glass where his hand first connected. That same slap had lesser sinners cowering before him, but Vox only squeezed Valentino’s wrist harder. “Why are you so obsessed with me today?” Valentino shrieked as he tried and failed to tug his arm free.

“Because I don’t want you to starve!”

“We’re in Hell. That’s not gonna happen!”

“Like it didn’t last time?”

Something snapped. Valentino finally yanked his arm free from Vox’s grip and unfurled his wings in a way that was usually intimidating, but now was more like a prey animal trying to look too big for a predator. Being the prey didn’t suit him at all. “How dare you—you promised you would never bring that up again!”

“And you promised you would never do that again!”

“You know what? I don’t need this.” Valentino picked up the bag of lunch Vox had brought and threw it as hard as he could against the wall, where it burst in a shower of cheese and tortilla. He picked up a handful of scripts and stormed out, ranting in Spanish the whole way.

“Fine! See if anyone cares when you rot away!” Vox shouted after him.

When he was alone, Vox sat down in Valentino’s chair, rubbing the crack in his face with tense frustration. In hindsight, that was probably the one of the better outcomes. When Valentino stopped eating, it was like pulling teeth to get him to start again. The worst time it happened, he had to be essentially force-fed until he started again. But that wasn’t until he had wasted away into almost nothing.

Vox wasn’t going to let that happen again.

Vox couldn’t dedicate all of his time to solving the problem at the moment, there was still VoxTek to run. Still, he turned the problem over in his head any time he had a spare moment, and though he’d never admit it, he found himself distracted more than a few times that day. That night, he tried to subtly send some of Valentino’s other favorite foods over to him down in the studio, where he was working late with some of his favorite actors. When Vox finally went to bed, the delivery bag had been crumpled with the food still inside it, mashed and leaking, and placed in the center of Vox's bed.

“Fucking Val,” Vox muttered as he dragged the duvet off the bed. At least Valentino hadn’t actually smeared the mess into his sheets. Vox flopped down in the bed and let out a frustrated groan. This was exactly the kind of day when he needed Valentino in bed with him, ready to go. No one else knew better how to help him unwind after a hard day. Sure, he wouldn’t have to do much more than snap his fingers to have someone waiting in his bed for him, but it wouldn’t be the same. Even if he was interested in fucking some random sinner, there was no way he’d let the secret of some of his most shameful kinks out to someone he couldn’t trust. Valentino wasn’t shocked by what Vox liked, and he had no interest in blabbing the embarrassing details to all of Hell.

Vox woke up bleary and foggy the next morning. He overslept, so he didn’t have time to confront Valentino about breakfast. Maybe it was for the best. He knew that, however cranky Valentino was yesterday, he would be ten times worse after no doubt a bad night’s sleep. Unfortunately, Vox didn’t have much time to dedicate to thinking as he jumped into a day full of meetings.

His first free moment was at eleven o’clock, so he took a few minutes to take his phone off Do Not Disturb and check his messages. To his surprise, there were 17 text messages and two missed calls. He was just about to scroll through everything he missed when his phone started ringing again. It was Velvette.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Vox asked, annoyed.

“The pleasure’s nobody’s, we’ve got a disaster on our hands!” Velvette’s voice came sharp and angry over the phone. “Pervert Mothra’s gone and made a fucking embarrassment out of us!”

Vox covered his face with his hand and slowly dragged it down as he groaned. “Oh. Lovely. What did he do this time?”

“He was in the middle of a shoot and he passed out on set. Right in front of everyone! I don’t know what he was doing last night, but apparently, he got so fucked up he can’t even see straight!

“Vel—”

“Someone got pictures up before we could clear the studio, and they’re trending on almost every platform! You should see the hashtags!”

“Velvette—”

“So get your ass in gear and handle him!”

“Velvette!”

“What?!”

“Where. Is. He.” Vox was squeezing his phone so tightly it almost creaked under the pressure.

“Security dragged him into his room.”

“I’ll be there.”

Vox texted his assistant: day cancelled. Clear my schedule. Then he put his phone back on DND and headed for Valentino.

Vox stood outside Valentino’s door. He knew what he was going to see when he went in, and he hated it. He was holding another delivery bag, this time containing those chicken wings that Valentino liked so much, but he doubted Valentino would take a single bite.  Likely, he’d gone without eating long enough so that he would throw up whatever went down into his stomach, but it would be something.

His mind wouldn’t come back to the present. Vox was stuck to the last time it had gotten so far. Sure, Valentino slipped here and there since then, but not for more than a day or two, and Vox’s peace offerings were almost always accepted. The nachos yesterday should have been the end of it, not the beginning.

But That Time, it had gotten so bad that Vox thought Valentino might legitimately rot beyond his ability to regenerate, his body eating itself away until he was nothing but a sentient mass of sludge unable to do anything but exist. He wouldn’t die from starvation. Rather, he would become a shadow of his former self, unable to return to his prime. A hell within Hell. Vox wasn’t sure if that was possible or if it was just a nightmare. But even if it wasn’t real, Valentino was suffering now. And Vox had to end it.

Vox let himself in. The room was dark, with only a faint hint of light coming from the outside hall. “Val?”

From across the room in the direction of his bed, Valentino whined, “Go away...”

“No.” Vox hit the light switch. Valentino hissed and pulled his pillow over his face.  Vox came over and sat down on the bed, then carefully tugged the pillow off Valentino’s face.

“What are you doing here?” Valentino’s tone was annoyed, but there was very little force in it.

“I came to feed you,” said Vox.

“Are you still on that?” 

“Val, I...” I know you’re scared. I know what you’re afraid is going to happen. But I’ll be with you the whole time.

He couldn’t say it.

At least it wasn’t quite as bad as it was That Time. He never wanted to have that happen again, coming into the room and seeing Valentino in the state he was in. In his mind, Vox was standing in the doorway just like back then, holding that crappy ham sandwich he’d thrown together, not understanding why Valentino was acting like this.

Vox remembered how Valentino had been keeping himself away from him for the past few days, so when Vox finally saw Valentino, it shook him to his core. Valentino was normally slender, and his clothes were neatly tailored to show off all his best assets while hiding the flaws. The fact that, as narrow as he was, his clothes were still hanging off of him was horrifying. Vox could see his bones sticking out on the elbows and collar, and his cheeks were sunken in.

Even though he was just lying there, it took Valentino a minute to catch his breath before he said weakly, “Voxxy?”

Vox went over to the bed and sat down on the side. Valentino slowly slithered towards him like a sad little snake, inching across the sheets as best he could until he got up to Vox and rested his head on his partner’s thigh. He didn’t say anything but made a contented little hum in his throat.

“I brought you something to eat.” Vox held up the sandwich. “I don’t know why you haven’t been eating, but that’s gonna stop.”

Valentino grunted.

“So... eat it.” Vox had expected Valentino to reach up and take it from him, but instead, Valentino buried his face in Vox’s lap. “No, c’mon, Val. I mean it.”

“Nooo...” Valentino let out a pitiful little whine.

“Seriously. Val.” Vox reached down and twisted Valentino’s head around until his face was showing. To Vox’s surprise, he saw Valentino’s eyes were brimming with tears, and his cheeks were red and blotchy. Had he been crying? Vox had never seen Valentino cry before, and he couldn’t believe it was about this of all things.

Vox carefully turned Valentino over onto his back, so Valentino’s head was resting in Vox’s lap, facing up. “Okay. Here we go.” Vox held the sandwich up to Valentino’s mouth and tried to feed it to him. Valentino pressed his lips together and turned his head. “Seriously, Val. You need to eat it.”

“Noo, no lo quiero...” Valentino was mumbling, his mouth not really moving enough to really pronounce the words. If Vox had bothered to learn a little Spanish, he probably still wouldn’t have understood what Valentino was saying. “No puedo...”

Vox let out a frustrated sigh. “I can’t understand you, Val.”

“No puedo, me matará...”

“Val, come on. It’s food. It’s good.” Vox moved the sandwich back to Valentino’s mouth.

Valentino choked out a sob and turned his head away again.

Vox slammed the sandwich down. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why won’t you eat it!”

“No quiero morir...”

“I don’t know what that means!” Vox grabbed the sandwich and again shoved it into Valentino’s face, and Valentino sobbed again, but still kept the food from entering his mouth.

By this point, Vox was frustrated enough to cry himself. He didn’t, but it was close. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Vox?”

“What? What do you want?”

“Vox...”

“Holy shit.” Something clicked. Vox hesitated, then took Valentino’s chin and tilted his face to look at him. “Val? Do you know where you are?”

“No lo quiero, no lo puedo comer.”

“Val, it’s me. It’s Vox. Do you see me?”

Valentino was staring up at him but didn’t respond. Tears were spilling from his eyes, but he looked too tired to actively cry. Vox lifted Valentino’s torso and held him close. “Fuck, Val...” he said softly, as if Valentino was so weak Vox’s words could do physical damage when they hit him. “Why are you doing this?”

Valentino didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to be aware of anything anymore.

Vox was afraid. He was in so far over his head, and he was terrified of what could happen to Valentino if he kept this up. In a way, he wished Valentino could die because then at least he would be dealing with something he understood. In Hell, everything was so much more complicated. Vox hated not being in control, hated not knowing what to do. There was no one he could ask for help, either, no one he trusted enough with this information to go to. If this had happened more recently, Vox could have easily searched up advice on the internet, but this was back before every piece of knowledge ever discovered could be accessed from one’s pocket. As it was, he had send his assistant out to look for a book for him to read like some fucking nerd.

The needed book was frustratingly obtuse. It felt like it was written for people who understood everything already, and Vox kept getting tripped up not realizing that he was missing a piece of information the book seemed to expect him to have. It went into detail about potential causes, the mental state of the subjects, and the effects it had on the body, none of which was helpful. He skimmed to the back, where it started discussing treatment options, his mind begging for the solution to be spelled out in plain English.

Vox slogged through the text about immediate treatment. None of it made much sense to him, and the book only covered broader methods of treatment, nothing about how to physically get someone to eat when they were so out of it that they lost their language capacity. The parts he did understand were completely unhelpful.

One challenge of treatment for anorexia is the belief that treatment is not needed due to a distorted body image or belief that anorexia is a lifestyle rather than a disorder.

Yeah, that made sense. Valentino definitely acted like his lack of eating was a viable option. Not much help, though.

There are no known medications shown to help treat anorexia. In addition, being underweight may interfere with medications taken to treat other conditions.

Vox wondered if that made Valentino’s drug stash more or less effective. Oh, well. Doesn’t matter.

One risk factor for binging is dieting and skipping meals. Routine mealtimes are important to reduce binging behavior and subsequent purging.

Binging was definitely not one of Valentino’s issues, and he didn’t have anything to purge.

After extended periods of malnutrition, the process of reacclimating the patient to food is done under the care of medical professionals to prevent refeeding syndrome. The act of eating again after such periods may lead to electrolyte or fluid imbalances, which can cause death.

That sounded like a dick move from nature, Vox thought. At least Valentino couldn’t actually die again from this.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy can be used to replace negative thought patterns with healthier, more positive beliefs and behaviors. In this way CBT can help with negative feelings towards food.

Vox made a mental note to not let Valentino learn about cognitive behavioral therapy and its initialism just now. He didn’t want to deal with that until later.

“Well, that was a waste,” Vox muttered as he slammed the book shut. Waste of time. Waste of money. Waste of brainpower. And while he had been dicking around with this stupid book, Valentino was deteriorating. Vox went to check on him and found him curled up, his breathing ragged, whimpering slightly, and completely unresponsive. It made Vox sick.

In desperation, Vox went to the kitchen and started rooting around for the most liquid food he could find. They kept fruit in the house for midday smoothies, there was a tub of uncooked oatmeal in the cabinet, and a half-eaten jar of applesauce in the fridge. That would have to do.

He blended the fruit with yogurt while the pot of water for the oatmeal was brought to a boil. He fished out a tray and put the smoothie glass on it, followed by a bowl of oatmeal and an empty bowl for the applesauce. He kept that in the jar to have one fewer thing to spill. Two spoons to cap it off, and he had a good effort. If this didn’t work, he’d go back to the drawing board.

Valentino wasn’t looking any better when Vox returned. He knew it was just his imagination, but he swore that Valentino was paler and thinner, and his collarbones were jutting out more. Vox pushed that aside and put the tray on Valentino’s nightstand. Then he sat down on the bed next to Valentino and took his shoulders. Vox carefully and slowly pulled him over until Valentino’s head was on his lap. Valentino hummed in appreciation.

“Okay. You’re gonna eat it this time.” Vox started with the applesauce, since it was the sweetest and also the oldest, so he wanted to use it before it went bad. Vox shifted himself and Valentino around as best he could until Valentino’s head was slightly propped up against Vox’s stomach. Then he reached down with his thumb and gently eased it into the corner of Valentino’s mouth to see if he could coax it open.

Valentino’s eyes were closed, but when he felt Vox’s thumb, his tongue snaked out and began curling around the intruding digit. “No, come on, Val,” said Vox. “This isn’t supposed to be sexy.”

Vox hoped that this meant Valentino was too out of it to protest what was happening. If Valentino was on autopilot, he would always default to sex. Vox swore one time when Valentino had been up for fifty-two hours straight that he fell asleep halfway through sex and only woke up again at the climax. Valentino swore that wasn’t true, but Vox had heard him snoring. How he kept going as the top, Vox had no idea. He still gave Vox the top-tier orgasm he’d come to expect, so he couldn’t complain.

When Vox removed his thumb, Valentino’s mouth closed. Vox took the bowl and very carefully put it to Valentino’s lips with one hand, holding the spoon in the other. He used the spoon to ease his mouth open again, and this time Valentino didn’t react. Vox tipped the bowl very slightly, so just a bit of it went into his mouth. To Vox’s immense relief, he didn’t protest or spit it back out. He didn’t swallow it, either, and Vox didn’t want him to accidentally breathe it in or anything. Vox shifted the spoon so that it was awkwardly clenched between his thumb and the side of his palm, so that his fingers were free to gently rub Valentino’s throat to coax him to swallow.

It worked. Vox breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the esophagus flex. He tipped the bowl again and spilled a tiny bit more into his mouth, a bit less than last time. Again, Valentino swallowed it with minimal coaxing. Little by little, the bowl emptied, Vox tipping it and Valentino swallowing it without knowing what he was doing.

It took over an hour to get all of the food inside Valentino. It was slow, with agonizingly small incremental progress, but it was progress nonetheless. That was more than Vox had gotten any other time he tried to convince Valentino to eat. Far more than the sandwich, anyway. Soon, the applesauce was gone, and Vox got to work on the oatmeal.

At one point, Vox was going too fast when he tipped the next bit of food into Valentino’s mouth and coaxed him to swallow. Valentino gagged, and Vox felt a quick jolt of panic. He grabbed the now-empty applesauce bowl and rolled Valentino over onto his side. Valentino gagged again and then spat up a mix of watery bile and applesauce. Not nearly as much as he’d taken in, so Vox counted that as a victory. Vox put the bowl aside and held Valentino for a few minutes to let his stomach settle before starting again.

Tip the bowl, spoon the food, close the mouth, coax the throat. Every time he felt Valentino’s esophagus move, Vox felt a slight twinge of relief. It was, unfortunately, the same relief over and over again rather than chipping away fully at the tension, because even when the applesauce, the oatmeal, and the smoothie were all gone, Vox was still almost as tense as he had been at the beginning.

But the evidence was clear. Vox was slightly ill at the realization that he could actually see the food in Valentino’s stomach. He was so emaciated that what little he ate and kept down made the slightest bulge in his abdomen. Vox stared with a strange mixture of awe and disgust. He reached his claw out and gently touched the spot, rubbing his thumb over the skin. Then he pressed down slightly, and Valentino let out a strange whimper. Vox quickly pulled his hand back. He didn’t want to make him throw up again.

The last thing Vox did was get a glass of water. This was easier, and by this point, Valentino was swallowing everything put in his mouth without encouragement. “There, that’s the Val I know,” said Vox, his voice full of affection. “You always swallow everything I give you.”

Valentino would have loved that joke. Too bad he was still completely out of it.

His task complete, Vox shifted around until he was laying down with Valentino, holding him close. He held Valentino’s head close to his chest, gently stroking the back of his head down to his back, feeling his heart beat and his lungs breathe. For a while, Vox fell into a light catnap that he woke from several time, just enough to see that Valentino was still asleep.

After a few hours like this, when Vox made one of his brief visits to consciousness, he saw that Valentino’s eyes were open. That sent a spark through him, and his brain kicked into gear. “Val? You back with me?”

Valentino squeaked and his antenna flinched, but that was all Vox got.

“Feeling better?”

Valentino blinked slowly but didn’t say anything.

Vox took one hand and gently cupped Valentino’s face with his claws. “You really scared me, you know.”

“Okay.” Valentino’s voice was faint and listless.

Vox wasn’t sure what to say next, but he felt like he needed to fill the empty space, the way he filled the empty space in Valentino’s stomach. “I mean it. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“… sorry.”

Vox then moved his arms to wrap around Valentino and gave him a little squeeze. “It’s fine. Just don’t do it again.”

Valentino didn’t answer, so Vox just held him. It was quiet again, but Vox wasn’t ready to let this sit. “Val…?”

Val didn’t answer, but he tilted his head slightly to look up at Vox.

“Why won’t you eat?”

“I don’t want to die.” It was barely more than a mumble. Vox realized that Valentino was still pretty out of it, so Vox wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Uh, yeah, isn’t that a reason why you should be eating?”

“I can’t…”

Vox began rubbing slow circles on Valentino’s back. Valentino snuggled into Vox’s chest.

“Can I ask you a question?” asked Vox.

Valentino made an affirmative noise.

“Is this how you died?”

Valentino didn’t answer.

Vox pressed a bit more. “Did you starve to death? Is that why you’re so weird about food?”

“No.”

“It’s okay if you did. I don’t care. I just need to know why you’re doing this.”

“It’ll kill me.” Valentino buried his face into Vox, blocking out as much of his surroundings as possible.

“Have you always had trouble eating?”

“…yes.”

“Was there never enough food? Was that it?”

Valentino squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “There was so much… there was always so much…”

“Yeah?”

“Anything I wanted. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?

“I was disgusting.”

Yup. That sure sounded like an eating disorder. Vox continued soothing, keeping his hand moving on Valentino’s back. “Yeah? Then what?”

“It was just a sandwich,” Valentino mumbled. “That’s all. I thought it would be fine. I was hungry. Just a little couldn’t hurt.”

Vox’s mind went back to that book, and something clicked. “Hang on. So you did starve yourself, right?”

“…yes.”

“But that’s not how you died. You died when you tried eating again.”

Valentino choked on his answer, but it sounded like a “yes” to Vox. He was trying not to cry, so he was just making little shudders.

Vox squeezed Valentino closer. “Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Death trauma was an interesting phenomenon in Hell. Nearly everyone had it, and it manifested in different ways. For Vox, it had mostly been compulsive checking. He was terrified to walk out on stage if he hadn’t checked the rafter, the catwalks, or the ceiling for anything that might fall, and ordered stagehands to secure things in front of him before he’d go out. This lasted an embarrassingly long time before he managed to control that anxiety. Once he got fully used to his demon body, he could remind himself that even if another TV fell on him, the worst it could do was really hurt. Now he didn’t even think about checking.

Not everyone was the same. Vox had thought Valentino had possibly gone in the other direction. Some people developed an obsession with their method of death. Someone who died of a drug overdose might come into Hell and immediately start taking more substances than they possibly could while alive. Someone who was hit by a car could end up being a gearhead down here. Vox knew one sinner who had drowned and was so obsessed with water that not only did he keep his bathtub full at all times, but he also put buckets of water all around his home, he was so fixated on it. It wasn’t a huge leap to think that Valentino’s fixation on sex wasn’t just hedonism, it was pathological, born from the trauma of his death.

But no. He’d starved himself, and when he decided to stop doing that, it killed him.

Nature really is a dick, Vox thought.

The memory came to an end, and Vox was back in the present. He and Valentino were lying together on the bed, Vox’s arm around Valentino’s shoulders. In his other hand, he had one of Valentino’s grasped in his lap. For a while, neither of them spoke. The lights were dim, and the ambient noise was low.

When Vox finally spoke, even a whisper felt like a yell against the silence. “You know you’re gonna have to start eating again.”

“…yeah, I know.” Valentino sounded defeated. His antennae were drooping. Vox reached the hand on Valentino’s shoulder and gave the good one a light stroke. Valentino squeaked at the touch and the antenna twitched slightly.

“Look.” Vox reached into the bag and pulled out a chicken wing. “You love these.” Vox held it under Valentino’s nose, but Valentino didn’t acknowledge it.

“They’re delicious. See?” Like a mother trying to encourage a fussy baby, Vox took a bite of the chicken wing and chewed. “S’good,” he said, mouth full.

Valentino didn’t respond. Vox’s chewing slowed down as a thought came to him.

Then Vox took Valentino’s chin in his claw and turned his face in Vox’s direction. Valentino allowed himself to be moved with no resistance. Then Vox pulled his face close and pressed their lips together as he cradled Valentino’s head in his claws. Valentino didn’t resist; he never did. He leaned into the kiss almost eagerly, though he was still a bit listless in his movements, and his coordination a bit clumsier than usual. Valentino smelled sweet, somewhat like strawberries, and it always mixed well with Vox’s more metallic scent.

It wasn’t until he tried to get his tongue in on the action that Valentino realized what Vox was doing. Through the kiss, Vox used his own tongue to move the chewed-up food from his mouth to Valentino’s. The second his tongue tasted the spicy sauce coating the wings, Valentino tried to pull away. But right now, Vox was in control. The hand that had been holding Valentino’s head so gently now gripped him hard and forced him to stay. A few of Vox’s cables also got involved, shooting out from behind Vox and wrapping around Valentino and Vox’s heads to tie them together.

With no way for Valentino to escape, Vox used his tongue to push the food to the back of Valentino’s mouth. When it got far enough, instinct took over, and Valentino swallowed. As soon as he did, Vox’s cables retracted and he let go of Valentino’s head. Valentino pulled back immediately, pushing Vox’s chest as he did, and said, “You asshole!”

“I think it was delectable,” said Vox, smiling.

Valentino wiped his mouth. “You tricked me.”

“What else could I do?” Vox leaned back on one hand, the other draped lazily beside him as casual as can be.

“Uh, not trick me?” Valentino crossed all four of his arms and let out an indignant squeak as he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“But look at this.” Vox took his lazy hand and made a generic gesture in Valentino’s direction. “You swallowed something and nothing happened. No big deal.”

At that, Valentino slowly uncrossed his upper arms as one of his hands went to his throat. He lightly brushed his fingers against it as he dragged them down to his prominent collarbone.

“You know what?’ Vox flashed a casual grin, but Valentino could still see the menace behind it that it usually had. “Maybe I won’t kiss you anymore unless you eat.”

“What?” Valentino’s antennae twitched. “You can’t do that!”

“I think I can. And will.”

Valentino tried lunging himself at Vox. He did a terrible job at it, as dizzy and uncoordinated as he was. Still, Vox didn’t move out of the way even though he could clearly see what was about to happen. Instead, he let himself be tackled, let himself be pushed back onto the bed, let Valentino pin him down in an incredibly familiar way. “You can’t derive me of my pleasures,” he growled in that threatening way he used on his whores.

Instead of cowering (though Valentino knew he wouldn’t) Vox laughed. “Derive? Really? What, have you been reading books lately? Because you mean deprive.”

“Still fuck you. I get what I want.” Valentino was holding Vox down with all four hands and pinning Vox’s thighs down with his own. He brought his face down close to Vox, and the whole time Vox wasn’t squirming, wasn’t resisting. But when Valentino was about to bring their lips together, Vox’s face disappeared, only to be replaced with the VoxTek logo.

“Oh, seriously, fuck you.” Valentino straightened up. A second later, his face changed from angry to surprised, and then switched to seductive. Then, instead of fighting Vox, he began slowly grinding his pelvis down against Vox’s. “It’s not like that’s the best part anyway. I can still… still…”

But as he spoke, Vox noticed Valentino’s face slowly drained of color as his grinding slowed to a halt. He slouched slightly, and then started to tip sideways. Immediately, Vox’s face came back as he sat up. He easily pulled his legs out from under Valentino and caught him by the shoulders. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

Valentino let out a long groan of annoyance, discomfort, and frustration. Vox pulled Valentino close to him and gave him a squeeze. Then he lay Valentino down on his back, head propped up on his pillows and let him wrap his wings back around himself. Then Vox picked up the chicken wing and took another bite, making sure to chew it thoroughly.

When it was sufficiently soft, Vox leaned down and hovered his face over Valentino’s, less than an inch apart. Valentino stared up at him but didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Vox once again brought their lips together, first lightly brushing them against each other. Then when they pressed their lips together, Valentino eagerly returned the kiss. He probed his own tongue into Vox’s eagerly, exploring the cavern as he always did. He found the chewed up chicken wing on his own and took it into his mouth. When he did, Vox pulled back slightly, and Valentino swallowed.

“See? Not scary.”

Valentino huffed. “Is this the only way you’re gonna kiss me now?”

“Depends. Is this the only way you’ll eat?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

Valentino didn’t respond. Clearly his “No, you!” gambit had failed.

“Still hungry?” asked Vox.

“I wasn’t hungry to begin with,” Valentino said with an almighty pout.

“You brat.” Vox chuckled. He grabbed another chicken wing and took a large bite, then began chewing.

Valentino didn’t waste time with that. He wrapped his upper arms around Vox’s neck and pulled his head down until their foreheads were touching, then used a third arm to tilt Vox’s chin until he brought their lips together. This time when he took the chicken with his tongue, he continued chewing it on its own until it was ready for him to swallow.

Bite after bite, kiss after kiss, Vox fed Valentino the entire order of chicken wings. Well, maybe Vox ate one or two, but just as a reward for doing such a good job feeding Valentino. When they were done, with Vox still on top of Valentino, Valentino again began grinding against Vox, hoping to turn this into something more. However, he couldn’t fight the yawn that crept up the back of his throat.

“Tired?” asked Vox, his voice saccharine.

“No.” Valentino was about as convincing as a child angling to stay up past bedtime.

Vox got off Valentino and lay down beside him. “Proud of you, Val.”

“Ugh.” Valentino threw one of his upper arms over his eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know. It feels stupid.”

“It’s not,” said Vox. “That was a big step.” He stretched his neck up and kissed Valentino on the forehead tenderly. “I know how hard that was.”

“Yeah, right.”

Vox thought for a minute, trying to decide if he really wanted to say what he was thinking. His instinct was no, never, not in a million years. But he’d seen Valentino in an extremely vulnerable state, and part of him felt he owed it to the man to reciprocate. Besides, worst case scenario, it was mutual assured destruction. If Valentino ever told a soul what Vox was considering telling him, then Vox would tell them all about how the Overlord of Film would starve himself because he was afraid of killing himself by eating.

“Hey, Val?”

Val tilted his head sideways to look at Vox.

“Did I ever tell you about how I was afraid to go out on stage when I first got to Hell?”

Valentino snickered. “No, why?”

Vox was smiling. “Remember when I told you about my movement?”

Vox told his story as vaingloriously as he could a story that ended in his death and subsequent fear of public presentation. At first Valentino was trying to stifle his laughs as he listened, and Vox allowed him to. It was a special moment, so he would overlook it. However, he didn’t quite make it to the end before Valentino started nodding off, and he was asleep before Vox could finish the story.

Vox lay beside Valentino for a while, wondering if he should get up and move the takeout container full of chicken bones off the bed. But he was too cozy to move, and he didn’t want to wake Valentino during his much-needed sleep. Instead, he started making plans of what to cook for breakfast. Would he prefer pancakes or waffles? Maybe eggs and bacon? Vox wished he had listened more when Valentino talked about the foods his family ate on Earth. Maybe Velvette would remember, if she was done being pissy about this.

Whatever. At least he knew that, whatever it was, Valentino would eat it one way or another.