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Vox was stressed.
Again.
And not his normal stress, either. The kind that built up like static in his mind, stiffened his whole body until his hands shook and his claws carved cyan half-moons into his palms. The kind that could be fixed with a hot meal or a decent night’s sleep. A good fuck.
No, this was the less frequent but more dangerous kind. When Vox got so wrapped up in a project he could think of nothing else. Or when another overlord got the better of him. Or when he went days without sleep and worked himself into a stupor. The times when Valentino and Velvette pressed him to rest, and Vox just grumbled something about “hearing things” and soldiered on.
The latter category of Vox’s mental lapses were lethal as well as inconvenient. When the TV demon got this worked up, he always caused sizable damage to either himself, the tower, or both. He’d feed off the tower’s generators instead of sleeping, consequently frying the mainframe. The whole building was without power for two days. Or he’d snap and claw at his screen until it broke, ripping out the circuitry inside. Once, the other two Vees found him in his office, a mumbling, manic mess, rocking back and forth on the couch after destroying one of their broadcast studios because he thought the radio demon was listening in on them. It took over a week to rebuild it.
Valentino wasn’t sure what had caused it this time, but he could tell it was going to be one of Vox’s worse days when he walked into the kitchen one morning and found several half-empty mugs of cold coffee on the counter. Vox had not gone to bed then. When was the last time he had actually slept?
A quick check of his phone showed no calls or texts from Vox either - another bad sign. Usually Vox was in constant communication, an irritating side effect of dating a CEO, always reminding Val of meetings, interviews, re-shoots that needed to be scheduled.
The endless barrage of texts could be an annoyance, but the sudden ceasefire was concerning. Vox was slipping.
“You heard from Vox today?” Valentino asked Velvette. She sat at the marble countertop, nine in the morning and already glowing.
“Not today, no,” she answered, snapping a photo of her picture-perfect breakfast.
“What about yesterday?”
Velvette scoffed. “He didn’t respond when I texted so I rang him and the bastard practically screamed my ear off.” She looked up from her phone to roll her eyes. “Don’t know what’s got his knickers in a twist this time.”
Valentino grimaced. This wasn’t looking good. Usually the CEO was more collected than that.
Val thought the solution was simple - sex. What better cure for stress was there? It had not once failed him.
The last time Vox got this stressed out, Val simply strolled into his office, pinned his arms to his sides, and forcibly fucked him on his desk. It had worked of course, but Vox sulked for almost a month after that. He still let Val fuck him, but he had a vacant, distant look in his eyes. Hardly any fun.
So Val decided a different approach was in order. But what?
Vox seemed to live for explosive cathartic moments, craved them, which was why Val had assumed a rough fucking would do the trick. For a CEO, the man seemed paradoxically incapable of balance or routine; if something irked him, however slight, he simply ignored it until it spiraled into a hurricane. If he didn’t explode right then and there, that is.
Admittedly, Vox always thrived in those explosive moments; the TV Demon worked well under pressure. And Valentino could admit it was quite the turn on, seeing Vox in his element, charming an audience, commanding a crowd. Strutting around in his tight little suits, electrocuting employees in a fit of rage or leaping into a bloody fight with another overlord. It was hot. It was some of the best sex they’d had, when Vox was in this volatile headspace.
What was decidedly not hot was when Vox didn’t keep his chaotic streak in check, when he didn’t come back to himself. It wasn’t often, but the damage was severe and though Valentino would never admit it, it was depressing, seeing Vox so…out of control like that.
Whenever Vox was out of commission, which was rarely but not never, Valentino and Velvette had a system they always defaulted to. Velvette stepped in to oversee Voxtek and ensure all business ventures continued as planned, while Valentino saw to Vox behind the scenes and did whatever needed to be done to get him back on his feet. Thus far, the strategy had a 100% success rate. Velvette had more business savvy and could handle that side of things with minimal fuss, and Valentino was better suited to deal with Vox since there was usually some manhandling involved.
The two Vees shared a glance, a mixture of indignation and concern. Without a word Velvette gave him a small nod.
“Let me see the playback. Okay…uh huh…not bad…” Travis squinted at the screen before turning back to Val. “Mr. Valentino?”
“Good enough,” Val said with a wave of his cigarette.
“Great, that’s a wrap!” Travis called to the set.
Assistants rushed to the actors and helped them into fluffy robes while the crew started to pack up the equipment and disassemble the set. Angel Dust took one wrist in his hand and stretched his arms above his head with a wince.
“Angel, a word,” Val called.
Val saw Angel’s shoulders slump and felt a twinge of irritation. Already an attitude.
Angel trudged over and looked up at Val with a sneer. “Yes?”
Valentino backhanded him so fast even he was a little surprised at the reaction.
Angel went stumbling backwards a few feet. He gaped up at Valentino incredulously. “What…what was that for?!”
“Watch your fucking attitude, Angel,” Val snarled.
Angel just blinked and readjusted his robe. “Sorry,” he muttered, eyes down.
“Listen, I need—” he started, and then stopped. Fuck, how the hell could he word this without giving away Vox’s tenuous mental state? Without giving away himself?
Angel looks at him, puzzled. “You need…?”
“Shut up!” Val snapped, tapping the ash off his cigarette to buy himself some time. He glanced around the studio and huffed in annoyance when he saw that most of the cast and crew were still milling about.
“Come on,” he roughly grabbed Angel’s arm and dragged him into his dressing room.
Valentino practically threw Angel Dust forward and shut the door. “You’re still at that shithole hotel right?”
Angel crossed his arms with a petulant expression. “I’m not moving back to the tower Val, I don’t hafta—”
“That wasn’t my fucking question, Angel,” Val growled, stalking closer to him.
Angel’s face fell as he clocked Val’s mood. “Yeah, I…yeah.”
“And…” Val stalled again, not even sure what to ask. “Don’t you freaks talk about…what do you putas all talk about?”
Angel just blinked, clearly confused. “Talk about?”
Valentino bit back a groan. This was going nowhere. “Doesn’t that ditzy princess make you talk about your feelings or some shit?”
“I…I mean sometimes, yeah,” Angel admitted. “She makes us do all kinds of dumb stuff.”
“Right, so how do you do that?” Val asked.
“Do…what?” Angel asked, still lost.
“Get someone to talk about their feelings. Or feel better. Or whatever,” Val asked, waving his cigarette holder, lines of red smoke zigzagging through the air.
Angel just looks at him. “I…what?”
Valentino was going to fucking throttle him. What a useless brat.
He surged forward, grabbing the front of Angel’s robe and forcing him back against the wall. “What—” Angel’s head knocked against the wall.
“Wait, wait—” Angel squeaked, clawing at Val’s hands.
“—do you fucking do?” Val asked again, trying to keep his anger in check long enough to get something helpful. Angel Dust may have been high out of his mind all of the time but he must remember something that floozy of a princess said.
“Is…is this about Vox?” Angel asked.
Val stilled but didn’t let go. “Why do you say that?” he said, low and dangerous.
“Because,” Angel swallowed and shifted uncomfortably in Valentino’s grasp. “Because you always get upset when he…” he paused, seemed to consider his next words. “…gets upset.”
Val studied him a moment before letting him go and stepping back. He took an angry puff on his cigarette.
“He’s just a little…stressed, at the moment.”
Angel Dust fixed his robe again. “And?”
“And I want don’t want him to be, you dumb slut, so what do I do?” Val snapped.
Angel scoffed. “Prude needs to get dicked down if you ask me.”
Normally Valentino would agree. Enthusiastically so. But the thought of Vox’s melancholy eyes, the gloom that practically clung to him as he moped for a whole month, his body tensing every time Val even came near him, made him pause.
“Didn’t work,” Val said.
“Hm,” Angel hummed. “Not sure then, this is more Charlie’s expertise. What’s his problem anyway?”
“I don’t even know,” Val said with an exasperated sigh. “He’s all frazzled and strung out. He’s gonna fucking break something.”
“Sounds like someone I know,” Angel muttered. Val glared at him and he quickly said “Look, why not just wait until he comes to you?”
Now it was Val’s turn to scoff. “Please, like that’d ever happen.”
“Convince him to take a night off then.”
Valentino paused. That might work. “How?” he asked skeptically.
Angel shrugged. “Tell him he needs a break. Get him to step away and relax for a little bit. Charlie calls it uh…” he scrunches his brows, snapping his fingers. “…uh, a ‘mental health day’, might make him feel better.”
“Will that…get him to tell me what the fuck is wrong with him?”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Angel said. “But maybe you could be a little more—”
Angel Dust paused as Val’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“More?” he prompted.
“Uh…patient,” Angel settled with. “For Vox,” he added quickly.
Patient. Easy. He could be patient.
“And who said you were just a pretty face?” Val cooed, leaning down to cup Angel’s face. The spider scowled and ripped his head away.
Valentino stepped into Vox’s office and was immediately taken aback. The television sat at his desk, hunched over his computer. He looked even worse than Val thought. Shock.wav swam fretfully behind him.
“Oh merida…” Val muttered, rubbing his face as he approached the desk. “Vox.”
The television flinched, looking up. He hadn’t even heard Val come in. He went right back to the computer. “What, Val.”
“Vox,” Val said in a tired voice. “What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“It’s after eight, the work day is over.”
Vox didn’t even slow his typing. “I still have some things to finish up.”
Val frowned as he took Vox in. The wrinkled clothes, bowtie askew. His antennae looked stiff. His screen glitched if he held one expression too long.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
Vox did look up at that, surprised. “What? I don’t—I don’t have to, I’m—get out, Val. I’m busy.” He started shuffling through the papers on his desk.
He hadn’t slept in days then. “Vox, baby, come upstairs. You need to rest.”
“I’m fucking fine, Val. Go away.”
Val placed his hands on his hips. “Vox, look at yourself. You’re burning the candle at both ends. Just take a break already.”
Vox stilled, his eyes shifting with uncertainty, his mouth pressing into a thin, anxious line, and for a moment Val thought he might not make this too difficult.
But then Vox blinked and wheeled back to his computer with a grim expression. “I said I’m fine, Val. And I have work to get done. Some of us want to be productive around here.”
Val felt his jaw clench. Between Vox’s stubbornness and the added slight, he was done playing nice. Well, he tried.
Vox coughed, choking on red smoke before he even noticed it in the room. He tried waving it away. He turned back to Val. “Val, fucking—” He was met with a face full of red smoke. He coughed harder.
Val rounded the desk and hoisted Vox up by an arm. Vox was too ensnared in the throes of a coughing fit to do much about it.
“Come on, amorcito. That’s enough work for today.” He walked Vox towards the door, all but dragging him out of the room.
“Val, let go!” Vox barked out between coughs.
“No,” Val responded flatly, marching him towards the elevator.
“The fuck are you doing, Val?” Vox snarled up at him, static on the edge of his voice. “I don’t have time to fuck you right now, I have to finish the broadcast schedule for Friday—”
“Sometimes I care about things other than sex you know,” Val said, stepping into the elevator.
“Psh, sure you do.”
Val smirked when he felt electricity tingle across Vox’s skin before dying out. The TV demon was too exhausted to teleport anywhere.
Vox caught the expression. “What are you smiling at?” he snapped.
“Someone’s tired.”
Vox just scowled at him. “I’m not tired Val,” he insisted, a petulant child convinced he did not need a nap, thank you very much. Val almost laughed. Didn’t he hear how ridiculous he sounded? “It’s too early for bed anyway. And I have a report due tomorrow, and I—”
“You’re taking a break, amorcito,” Val said swiftly as the elevator door opened on the penthouse floor and they stepped out. “Your reports can wait.”
Vox either got fed up or panicked or both, because when he saw the penthouse door he tried to wrench his arm free again, dragging his expensive shoes on the polished floor.
The last dregs of Val’s patience went down the drain. “Knock it off!” he yelled, smacking Vox upside his screen.
Stop it! a voice inside his head hissed. You’re ruining this!
Vox frowned, refusing to meet Val’s eyes, grumbling under his breath. He made a show of adjusting his bowtie, as if the blow hadn’t bothered him. At least he wasn’t struggling anymore.
Val bit his lip. Something akin to guilt curled in his chest, but how was he going to manage calming the bastard down if he was being so difficult?
They stepped into the penthouse, the one place in Hell the Vees could let their guard down. Here they weren’t feared overlords but just three damned souls seeking some form of solace.
Val quickly shut the door and turned to face Vox, releasing his arm. “Look, just take the night off, okay?”
Vox crossed his arms. “Why? I don’t have to—”
“I won’t come bother you at work for a month.”
The media overlord studied him skeptically for a few moments. “Really?” he said, disbelief plain in his voice.
“Really,” Valentino promised.
Vox considered it, conflict clear on his screen. A whole month with zero distractions from Valentino was unheard of. “Why…why do you want me to spend the night with you so badly?”
“You’re my boyfriend,” Val answered dryly. “Or did you forget?”
Vox tried to hide the guilt on his screen but wasn’t fast enough and got defensive. “What about the time you got me to spend the night with you just so you and Velvette could test a new strain of Love Potion?”
“You’re still mad about that? Vox, that was years ago.”
“I was sick for three days!”
“Alright,” he groaned, “I won’t drug you, okay? It was one time, Jesus.”
“That’s more like it. And don’t—” Vox started but then stopped with a glitch. His digital eyes darted around, like he was searching for the right words.
Val tried to keep his lips from curving into a cat-like grin. He knew what Vox meant but he wanted to hear him say it. “Don’t what?”
“Nothing,” Vox muttered.
Val sighed. Whatever, he could press that issue later. Right now he had to get Vox in a better mood before he exploded and took another studio out. Satan knows how long it would be until the damages were fixed. Until Vox calmed down. Until he was his Vox again.
The media overlord was strung tighter than a violin. His antennae hadn’t moved at all on the trip upstairs, and he was still glitching terribly. How was he going to get him to relax?
Well, besides the obvious.
You don’t build a pornography empire without a thorough knowledge of body language. Not that one really needed it with Vox. As impressive as his biomechanical body was, its one major flaw was how readily it betrayed Vox’s every emotion. His every reaction was literally broadcasted across his face, and it only got worse the more stressed he got.
Regardless, Valentino was fluent in body language, practically used it more than the spoken word. And he could tell Vox was…uncomfortable. And not just because Val had smacked him - though that certainly hadn’t helped. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, wouldn’t hold eye contact for more than a second, his arms crossing and uncrossing, like he couldn’t decide what to do with them.
Definitely not in the mood for sex. Too strained, too cagey. Under normal circumstances, Valentino would simply force it - the word ‘no’ being more of a challenge than anything. But he didn’t want a repeat of last time.
“You’re real fried, aren’tcha?” he asked the smaller demon.
Vox’s screen snapped up. “What’s that supposed to—”
“Come on, let’s watch a movie.” He took Vox by the wrist and dragged him to the parlor. That would give him time to come up with a more solid strategy.
Val pushed the other overlord onto the couch and flipped on the television. “Wanna watch Jaws?” That had to cheer him up a little, Vox loved that movie.
“Seen it too many times,” Vox mumbled, tracing his claw in circles on the couch’s armrest.
What the hell? Valentino had quite literally never heard Vox turn down an offer to watch his favorite film.
Val just looked at him, then back at the TV, unsure what to do. “Wait here.”
In the kitchen, Val leaned against the counter, impatiently puffing at his cigarette as popcorn popped erratically in the microwave. The night was off to a bad start. What the hell other movies did Vox even watch? Val had never even heard him mention another one.
Something in the pantry caught his eye and made him pause.
A can of soup.
Vox did mention another movie. Once. Years ago, before Velvette had teamed up with them. Something-Soup. It was a comedy. Vox said something about seeing it before he got his start in broadcasting and loving it.
Vox had only mentioned it once, and Val couldn’t come up with the whole name. Luckily, Hell came with the internet, and a quick search on his phone came up with the film almost right away. Duck Soup.
And it just so happened it was available on Voxflix. Perfect.
Val strolled back into the parlor and handed Vox the bowl of popcorn without a word. He pulled up Voxflix on the TV, dimmed the lights, and plopped down next to Vox on the couch. Val’s immediate instinct was to put his arm around Vox, pull him flush against him, but he held off. For now.
Vox’s screen lit up with interest before Val could even finish typing the film's name into the search bar. “We’re—have you seen Duck Soup?”
“No,” Val said with a shrug.
“I…don’t really think it’s your type of movie,” Vox started. “There’s no sex in it.”
“Again, I like other things besides sex, give me a little credit Voxxy,” Val said with a wink. Vox just stared at him. “Besides, you said you liked this movie.”
Vox didn’t answer for a minute. “Yeah…I’m surprised you remember that.”
The settled in to watch the movie. Vox wasn’t that off base - Val couldn’t really get into the humor, old as it was, and it failed to hold his attention. He didn’t really mind though, Vox seemed to be enjoying it, and as long as the narcissistic bastard wasn’t trying to destroy himself or something else that was good enough.
But it wasn’t good enough, Val reminded himself. He wanted Vox to calm down, not just delay his breakdown for an hour.
When in doubt, Val always turned to sex to get what he wanted. When that wasn’t an option, he turned to substances.
Vox wasn’t much of a user but the man loved a stiff drink. Val sent a text to Kitty and ten minutes later she appeared with their signature cocktails; an espresso martini for Val and an old fashioned for Vox.
“Oh,” Vox said, taking the glass and shooting Val a furtive glance. “Thanks.”
Seventy minutes and two old fashions later the credits for Duck Soup ran. Before Val could say anything Vox blurted out “Do you want to watch another one?”
Val chuckled. “Sure babe.”
They picked another Marx brothers movie, A Day at the Races, refilled their drinks and popcorn, and settled back in. Vox seemed a little calmer but he was still fidgeting uncomfortably, nervous energy popping in little electric arcs between his antennae.
Val got an idea. “Come ‘ere.”
Vox didn’t move.
Val waved a hand encouragingly.
Vox’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t move away. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.
“Just come here.”
There was a beat of silence where Vox remained still as a statue. Then he relented and reluctantly moved closer to Val.
Vox allowed himself to be manhandled a little, cautious but also curious where his partner was going with this, as Val maneuvered him to sit in between his legs so the moth was sitting behind him.
Vox went stiff as a board when Valentino peeled off his suit jacket. “Val—”
“Relax,” Val said brusquely.
A pair of hands descended on Vox’s shoulders and he flinched.
“You’re tense,” Val said matter-of-factly as his hands began to knead Vox’s muscles, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on his back.
Vox hunched forward, a violent shiver running through him as Val worked his magic on his aching shoulders. Having a TV for a head wasn’t easy on the spine.
For a while, Vox remained nervously hunched in on himself, waiting for Val’s hands to wander lower. Val could tell he was expecting the touch to turn into something else, and dutifully kept his hands where they were, working out the knots and aches in Vox’s back.
Vox jerked a little when Val went to work on his antenna, but otherwise stayed in place. As gently as he could Val rubbed each one between his palms and then fingertips, massaging the static out of them. Meanwhile his lower hands focused on working the tension out of the small of Vox’s back, and it was a fucking spa to the television demon. He tried to bite back a whimper of relief and Val smiled.
Eventually, the media overlord began to relax. First his shoulders returned to their normal position, easing down from where they had bunched up near his screen, then the tension slowly drained out of his body, the nervous energy gone. By the end of the second movie, he was leaning back drowsily against Val.
Val pressed a small kiss to the top of his screen and was pleased when Vox seemed too tired to react. He just hummed quietly in acknowledgment.
Mission accomplished, he thought smugly. The media overlord was practically boneless against his chest, and Val could feel his stress, his endless, undying ambition, his desperation to claw his way to the top even though they were already there, had been there for years, his constant want for more, more, more finally slip away. Valentino could stay like this all night.
But he had a point to prove.
“You should get some sleep, mi amor.”
“Hm?” Vox answered sleepily. “Oh. Yeah, I guess. What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
“Oh,” Vox said, sitting up. He stretched, his voice hoarse. “I guess we should turn in.”
Val moved Vox from his lap and hated it. He pressed a quick kiss to Vox’s screen. “Goodnight, amorcito.” Without another word he stood and walked briskly towards the door.
He got about halfway. “Wait!”
Val stopped and turned, head cocked to the side.
“Where are you going?” Vox asked.
“To bed, Voxxy. I have work tomorrow too.”
Vox stood there, eyes wide and worried. Without his suit jacket he had nothing to fiddle with and his claws flexed at his side.
“Do you want to…fuck around?” he asked, the usual confidence and bravado noticeably absent from his voice.
Val just looked at him. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Vox answered immediately.
Val cocked an eyebrow at him.
A beat of silence. Then, quietly, “No.”
“Then what do you want?”
Vox wasn’t stupid. Neurotic, yes. Annoying, yes. Ill-tempered and obsessive and destructive, yes. But he didn’t become an overlord of his stature, the de facto leader of the Vees, and the CEO of the largest tech company in Hell without keeping one step ahead of the competition. He caught on and he caught on fast.
“Why are you doing this?” he growled lowly.
Val wasn’t backing down. “Why is it so hard for you to tell me what you want?”
Valentino knew. Because the last time Vox told someone what he wanted, it was ripped to shreds right in front of him. He didn’t know exactly what went down between him and Alastor - Vox wouldn’t tell him - but he had an idea. Most of Hell did.
“You know what I want.”
“I want you to say it.”
Vox folded his hands behind his back, the wall shooting back up. The wall of hurt and anger and betrayal he had built brick by hellish brick to hide behind. From Valentino. From Velvette. From himself.
“Why?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Valentino could feel Vox’s sour mood creeping back in and he wanted to smack him. Again. Here he was, trying to help Vox work through his stupid problems and the insecure bastard was fighting him every step of the way. Why did Vox always have to be so difficult?
Patience, he told himself again. Be patient.
“Because,” Val said slowly. “I’m tired of waiting for you to break yourself to find out that something’s wrong.”
Vox’s sneer fell, his screen glitching between embarrassment and want. His eyes fell to the floor. His mouth opened but no words came out.
When Vox didn’t say anything Val turned and continued towards the door. His heart beat a little faster after he took a few steps and Vox didn’t stop him.
Be patient.
He approached the door.
Don’t break.
His hand found the doorknob.
Just wait.
He slowly began to turn and—
“Wait.”
Val smirked to himself. Game, set, match.
He made his way back to Vox, folding himself in half to be eye-level with him.
“Well?”
Vox looked away and muttered “I want you to stay.”
“Hm?”
“You heard me.”
Val snickered. He cupped the corner of his screen lovingly, forcing Vox to face him. “What a coincidence. I want to stay too.”
Vox knocked his hand away and rolled his eyes but Val didn’t miss the small smile tugging at his lips.
Valentino traced a claw delicately over the top of Vox’s screen, taking care to avoid his antennae. They were hyper sensitive, and while Vox didn’t like how vulnerable they were, Val sure did. He imagined toying with them, making Vox shiver in pleasure, his body shaking beneath him, and smiled.
It hadn’t taken long for Vox to fall asleep. He still wouldn’t tell Val how long it had been, but the moth knew it had to be days since he last slept. Safely cocooned within Val’s four arms, Vox looked more at peace than he had in weeks. Finally relaxed, his muscles free of tension and pent-up electricity.
Val traced a feather-light finger up and down Vox’s thigh. He wondered if he could trigger a wet dream. Would Vox wake up if he started fondling him? Probably not. The TV seemed dead to the underworld.
Tempting, but he thought better of it. Best not to ruin the moment. Vox had asked him, after all. Well. Almost asked him.
Vox shifted in his sleep, murmuring quietly. Val pulled him closer, resting his chin on the top of his screen.
“Silly TV."