Work Text:
He paces around, back and forth and back and forth in the pearly white and gold foyer. It shouldn’t be that hard. He fucking won. He’s a fucking god now, isn’t he?
Valentino’s still sitting over there, back straight and all four arms folded neatly in his lap. Naked. He’s not doing anything, just sitting there looking pretty. Red wide eyes dazedly staring ahead. Vox wishes he would just stand up and kiss him. Do something.
Velvette and Alastor are in a separate room. They aren’t as important right now.
A flash of purple in his peripheral vision, and yes. Yes, his heart races in his chest as Valentino’s empty eyes finally lock onto him and he rises. Long strides cross the room, and now he’s here standing in front of him, posture slumped so they are facing eye-level.
Vox smiles genuinely, reaching a hand out to touch the other’s face.
“Valentino, my dear. How are you?”
The moth’s face twitches, mouth opening slowly. “Good.”
His smile widens, until the corners of his mouth stretch to each side of his screen. “That’s amazing, darling. Will you give me a kiss?”
The response is immediate. “Yes.”
Vox pulls Valentino into his embrace, hands greedily consuming and consuming and consuming the other’s presence. The feeling of soft skin and fur is nice, but the touch, the touch is cold.
Valentino isn’t cold. He’s warm.
Vox frowns.
He doesn’t think about it too much, though, when he feels Valentino’s lips on his own. He’s shy, so he has to forcefully open the other’s mouth. He explores the warmth, savoring his flavor.
…The taste isn’t right. He files that away for later.
Suddenly Val pulls away, blinking rapidly.
“What’s wrong?” Vox asks.
He can almost see the gears turn in that little moth brain. Val’s never been that bright. That’s okay. All he needs to do is love him. Vox can take care of the rest.
“Nothing.” Valentino says, after a while. The words come out stiff and wrong.
…He’s crying.
Why is he crying?
It’s probably just reflex.
Vox reaches out and wipes away the quiet tears. His claw accidentally scratches Val’s cheek, leaving a faint red streak.
The other doesn’t flinch. He’s just standing there, doing nothing.
Fuck.
“Val.” His voice echoes around the empty hall.
Silence.
“Val.” He repeats, voice insistent. After a moment, “Do you love me?”
Finally, the other responds. His eyes flutter and he’s staring back, like the right wires in his brain are connected and activated.
“Yes.” He speaks without hesitation. “I love you.”
Vox’s heart aches.
It would be so easy to accept it. Accept this version.
But it’s not right.
Valentino wouldn’t have said yes. He would’ve pouted and fought and complained about everything, about the temperature, about the touch, about the kiss, about the little, harmless scratch. He would’ve screamed. Yet this one didn’t.
Vox scowls. His hands find the other’s neck and he digs his claws into the purple flesh, watching red bubble up and arteries erupt.
No reaction. It doesn’t even flinch as its blood trickles down its body and seeps into every crevice.
That familiar wave of frustration hits him full force. Why won't it fucking work?
Vox extracts his claws from the moths’ neck and instead latches them onto his face, staring into those red, red eyes.
Nothing stares back at him.
Whatever.
It’s fine.
There's no rush. He has an eternity ahead, after all.
Vox reaches in and summons that subconscious, divine being inside him. Lightning channels from his core and millions of volts invade into purple skin, and suddenly the moth before him is nothing but char and dust.
It doesn’t even scream in pain.
Vox sighs and dusts off his suit. Its remnants are on the floor, staining the clean quartz with ash.
Number 129.
Time to start over.