Work Text:
Considering it’s barely past noon, it’s already been one Hell of a fucking day (no pun intended – Vox doesn’t have time for that).
In his office, the grudging nerve-centre of V Tower, it simply Does. Not. Stop. Holographic windows open and close. Numbers tick. Messages flash rapid-fire: the ever-changing employee roll, security alerts, updates to the calendar, requests for funding... Vox handles them all, relentlessly shuffling people and money alike across the Tower’s many floors.
Over his shoulder, the enormous shape of Shok.wav hovers in his tank. Rolling languidly, he tilts his head at the frenzied scene. Oh, to be a shark, floating serenely. Shok.wav has no idea now easy he has it.
“Mr Vox, sir?” a halting voice says, to Vox’s left. “Y-your coffee—”
Ah, wonderful. Only... twenty-six and a half minutes since he requested it. No worries. He’s only SINGLE-HANDEDLY PREVENTING THIS WHOLE COMPANY FROM GOING UNDER, no big deal. Vox doesn’t even turn around, snatching the mug from his half-wit assistant.
A message flashes up on his HUD: something-something, peripheral connected... Yeah, yeah. Vox waves it away. His remade body is fresh and still kind of buggy. He’ll deal with that later. Meanwhile, Velvette’s new show is significantly over-budget, given the extension in everything from her fashion line to the literal length of the fucking runway. Someone’s got to pay for all this shit.
Well. Vox has to pay. Fortunately, another handful of VoxTek’s lowest earners were given the chop last week (or, the BLAST, as stress-relief for CEO Valentino). Vox has recovered some company funds there. Possibly sensing danger, Ethan scuttles away before he can be next.
Since Vox’s— hngh.
> ACCESSING MEMORY
> RETRIEVING FILES
>
>
>
Ugh. Vox grits his teeth.
Since... thatveryembarrassingthing he did, not so long ago, forcing Vel and Val to intervene before he could destroy half of the city and kill them all... Vox has been supporting the show from the shadows. While Velvette’s social empire is ever-rising and Valentino is soaking in the spotlight as the new face of VoxTek, Vox is right here.
Specifically, he’s stuck at his desk with a mile-long to-do list and an increasing headache. He sits a little straighter in his seat, adjusting himself in his chair. He feels suddenly fidgety. Maybe he should stretch his legs?
> MESSAGE TO: VALENTINO, VELVETTE
> Hey. Food at 1.30?
He doesn’t have to wait long for the replies:
> MESSAGE FROM: VELVETTE
> Sure thing, V.
> Mimosas??
>
> MESSAGE FROM: VALENTINO
> OOH MIMOSAS! BUT ALSO I’M ALREADY EATING, SOOO I DON’T KNOW HOW HUNGRY I’LL BE! KISSES!
Already eating? That’s weird, but not unwelcome news. Val worries about his weight to the point of bad habits; he’ll go all day with nothing if Vox doesn’t intervene.
If, since his rampage, Vox is feeling more protective than usual of Val and Vel both, then no one needs to know. Not even Val and Vel, since it’s no one’s business but Vox's own. Val in particular is constantly on his mind, since their accidental admission of certain FEELINGS that Vox had kept deeply-buried in his hard drive for decades.
Fuck. It’s all way too mortifying for comfort, but. They’re all together: Vox and Val and Vel. And they’re together: Vox and Val.
Is it warm in here? Vox blinks as a temperature alert pops up in his notifications. Maybe it’s thoughts of Valentino or exertion from crunching numbers all morning, but he’s actually worked up a sweat (or, his mostly-synthetic body’s version of it: heated air venting from his sides to try to regulate him).
> MESSAGE FROM: VELVETTE
> TMI, Val?!
>
> MESSAGE FROM: VALENTINO
> YOU LOVE IT BABYDOLL TEEHEE
> G2G VERY BUSY MWAH
Ah, so Val’s in the studio. Vox should have known. Bringing up Val’s schedule, today is mostly blocked-out for shooting. It’s (Vox squints) Step Brother Gets Stuck Again, This Time at the Bottom of a Tube Slide. Christ. More Angel Dust brainrot then, but Vox can’t deny that it sells. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, lest Val’s massive ego grow even bigger, but Val IS kind of a genius in his own lane.
Okay, it’s definitely warmer than usual. What’s going on? Is the thermostat on the blink? Vox’s fans whir. Shifting in his seat, his spine zings as a strange feeling trickles suspiciously southwards, coalescing between his legs. His heart rate picks up.
That has his attention.
“Uhh,” he utters, the sound ricocheting conspicuously around the metal walls of his office. He bites his tongue before anything more can escape him.
Looking down, Vox is almost expecting to see a mischievous face between his thighs. Val has sucked him off under this very desk before – multiple times, in fact, and always during meetings with important shareholders. Valentino is a menace. He’s an absolute gremlin. He’s...
Nowhere to be seen. Beneath Vox’s desk, there are only his own skinny legs, done up in his neatly-pressed trousers. The left leg jiggles unconsciously as trepidation takes over.
What’s going on? Vox holds onto the arms of his chair, knees spreading instinctively wider as exploratory touches quest around somewhere very sensitive. Invisible digits toy with him, gliding up in maddening flutters over phantom flesh. Fingertips brush. He nearly leaps out of his chair at the unmistakable feeling of a messy, open-mouthed kiss right at the root of him.
> CALLING: VSLENTINP
> USER NOT FOUND
>
> LKJGHDFGUHK1!!
> COMMAND NOT RECOGNISED
One-handed, Vox wrestles open his fly. Coffee sloshes in his mug. Between his legs, his empty port quivers.
Val is not here. Vox’s dick is not here. It’s no difficult feat to put two and two together and get FUCKING TROUBLE. He’s glad that Shok.wav has drifted away further into his tank – he doesn’t want his innocence corrupted by Val’s bad behaviour.
> CALLING: VAL-EN-TI-NO
So, Val has his dick. Okay. Okay. Vox did agree to that. It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal at the time; Val has him by the metaphorical balls anyway, after Vox’s monumental holy takeover fuck-up. Valentino stole Vox’s dick for the better part of a month while his body was rebuilding, and whatever he did with it, Vox had been none the wiser. It hadn’t been connected, remotely or otherwise.
Now, it’s DEFINITELY CONNECTED, despite not being in the same room. Every sensation is telegraphed straight to him, notching his arousal higher. Gripping the edge of his desk now, hard enough to sink his claws in, Vox can only hold on and try to breathe.
(That raises another, horrible point: there’s no way that Val could have rewired Vox’s dick on its own, to wirelessly deliver feeling to its owner. It naturally follows that he’s had HELP. Normally, Vox is tech support. Velvette, meanwhile, would rather scratch out her own eyes than tinker with Vox's junk – which means, Val has outsourced the job.)
Before Vox can panic, the call connects.
“Hey, Papito,” Val’s voice filters though, light and playful. “How are you?”
Faraway fingers glide over the tip of his missing dick, wiggling in the slit. He feels wet. Vox pants, screen brightening. Alone in his office, his voice cracks:
“Val. Wh-where are you?”
“Hm? Oh, I’m hard at work. Grinding. Putting in the hours.”
Fucking VAL. Teeth gritted, Vox flies through the CCTV. The sight of Angel Dust’s flat ass sticking out of the bottom of a slide is almost enough to kill his distant boner, but then Vox cycles through and finds Val’s private dressing room.
“Oh, yes,” Val purrs. “Here I am.”
He peers slyly up at the camera on the wall; he must have heard it turn towards him. Vox’s breath hitches. Val is perched at his dressing table, clad in a floaty robe that reveals teasing glimpses of his wings and chest beneath. His antennae are tilted forwards and he’s leaning on his elbows, working a very desperate blue dick to full hardness. To the untrained eye, it might look like he’s playing with a particularly uncreative dildo – but, Vox knows better.
When Val twists his hand, Vox feels... he FEELS...
“Uh, ahh...”
“You sound DESPERATE, Vox – you sure you’re okay?”
God, he’s so ridiculously brazen. Worse still: his evil dirty-talk tactics are working, as usual. Vox can only watch helplessly, screen burning as Val makes a show of drizzling lube liberally over the stolen dick. The shine of it glistens in the lights around the mirror. Vox can feel the slick running down to his balls, tracing chilly pathways over the heated silicone. He flinches.
“I forget which flavour this is,” Val says, faux-innocent. He leans in. “Let me see...”
“Hhh—!”
Val’s tongue wraps around him, long and wet and hot. When he sighs happily, the vibrations rattle around Vox’s empty port and up his spine. A spark of electricity leaps between his antennae.
“Oh yeah. Cherry.”
“Tino. TINO, I—”
Whatever he’s about to say, Vox doesn’t get to finish the thought. He’s awash with bliss, CPU whirling, his orgasm suddenly close, close, TOO CLOSE! Val hums a pleased moan around his tip, smug and self-satisfied, and there’s a pop as Vox’s screen shorts out.
His legs kick and his ass lifts out of his seat. In Val’s dressing room, his poor dick spurts up Val’s chest and throat.
In hindsight, mistakes were made. One mistake in particular is perhaps even more disastrous than being beaten by the petty cheat Radio Demon – and THAT, Vox thinks bitterly, is a low bar.
Vox should never have let Valentino keep his dick.
“Vox? Are you listening to me?”
It’s been a few days since the first incident at his desk, and it only seems to have opened the floodgates (oh, god) for more bad behaviour. Vox is on a knife-edge of terror, never knowing when the next wave of ill-timed pleasure is going to envelop him. But, inevitably:
In his office.
Striding across the foyer.
Meeting with Overlords both friendly and NOT, standing in front of a slideshow about the fucking VoxTek stock forecast.
“Vox?”
Vox has always known that Val is an insatiable monster. He’s taken a kind of twisted pride in it, in being the one to keep the notorious Valentino at least somewhat in check. Now, though, Vox realises: that was a moronically naïve notion. When he says that Val has him by the balls, he now means it very literally.
“VOX?”
“Hm?” Snapping to attention, Vox glances around the busy fashion department floor. Then, he looks down at his companion.
“Great. That’s just great, V!” Velvette rolls her eyes at him in exasperation, then they focus, hawk-like, on a passing model. “Wait. You. Stop.” Quick as a flash, she tears the frilly bow from the front of the model’s blouse. “No. UGLY!”
The model makes a hasty exit.
“Hmph!” Tossing the bow over her shoulder, Vel levels Vox with an unimpressed stare. “What going on with you lately?”
“What? Nothing.”
“Nothing? You’re distracted as fuck, don’t think you can get anything past me!”
He doesn’t quite suppress his nervous chuckle. “Vel, sweetheart, really – I’m fine! One hundred percent on board with... er, what— what was it you were saying?”
“Ugh. The EXCLUSIVE NEW LINE, Vox!”
Shepherding him past the mirrors and the rolls of fabric and the racks upon racks of clothing, Vel leads Vox to her desk. Flicking a file from her phone to the open laptop there, Vox sees... is that, er, a dress or some sort of elaborate vase? He’s actually not too sure. Listen, he never claimed to be fashionable, even for cutting-edge tech.
“Right! Right, that’s... it’s looking good!”
“Of course it is. I designed it.” Vel sits, spinning around once in her chair before coming to rest with her chin on her steepled fingers. “I’m thinking, a very limited roll-out.”
Kicking a nearby model off their stool, Vox scoots closer to Vel. His ass has barely touched the cushion when there’s a ghost of sensation in his groin.
> ALERT
> ALERTALERTALERT
Shit. No. Please, Val, not right now. As Velvette herself puts it, Vox is on thin fucking ice after his recent behaviour. He really can’t afford to piss Vel off after he’s worked so hard to get back on her good side.
“Hm!” he squeaks, too loud. “Er! A limited run, Vel, really? You don’t want, ah. Something. Uh.”
Despite his efforts to control himself, Vox’s thighs quiver. His screen is warming, brightening across his cheeks. He’s been run off his feet and now with Vel requesting a check-in, he simply hasn’t had chance to triple-check Val’s schedule. But wherever Val is right now, he’s handling Vox expertly. A warm palm wraps around Vox’s stiffening length, the pad of a clever thumb gently jostling his balls.
Velvette raises an eyebrow. “Cat got your tongue, V?”
No. A moth has his dick.
“I-I-I was just thinking, wouldn’t it be better to go bigger?” Vox forces a smile, but it’s wobbly. “I mean, this is— it’s obviously great, Vel. Very, ah. Avant-garde! But, don’t you want to maximise sales?”
Even as he forces the words out, he can feel the soft silicone of his foreskin sliding, becoming slippery beneath Val’s ministrations. The touch beneath this rapidly-swelling head is firm, sweeping up to part Vox’s slit and coax out a bead of precome. Before he can stop himself, Vox’s brain supplies an image of Val bringing that to his mouth, sucking his fingers.
“One of the downsides of expanding our flagship line.” Velvette leans back in her chair, folding her little arms across her chest. “Yes, we wanna be everywhere – but only on the right customers. The most fashionable. If ugly people can afford us, we’re doing something wrong.” She smiles. “It’s scarcity marketing, Vox. This one’s a limited drop, luxury beyond luxury. Everyone will KILL themselves trying to get hold of it.”
“R-right!” That makes sense? Vox thinks it does. His processor is running a bit slow, given the circumstances. He fights to control his expression, while Val manhandles him and Vel tosses her hair haughtily over her shoulder.
“In fact, I have a new collection drafted that’s going to be SO exclusive, it’s MY closet only.”
Their girl is whip-smart and sharper than anyone he knows. Vox feels proud, in the part of his CPU that’s not rapidly turning to mush.
There’s also, unfortunately, a bright, BURNING touch right on the tip of his cock—
“Ahh— hah!” Vox leaps from his seat. “Vel, that’s, what can I say? You’ve d-done it again – get the numbers to me and of course you can have all the backing you need!”
What the fuck was THAT? Vox’s fans are working overtime beneath his suit, trying to cool the hectic flush beaming from his screen. Even as he stands there, there’s another searing pinprick, this time on the underside of his shaft. After the initial bite, it quickly simmers down into pleasurable warmth.
From beneath the brim of her hat, Velvette scowls at him.
“Valentino got the hot wax, then.”
What.
What?
“Wh—”
“You guys are gross.” Velvette waves him away. “Ugh. For crying out loud! Val, I can just about tolerate, at least he’s pretty – but I don’t need to see you come in your pants like a fucking teenager!”
Technically, Vox is going to come in Val’s pants. Or in his hands. Or on his face. Through his feverish state, Vox hopes Val gets jizz in his eye. It would be exactly what he fucking deserves!
Wax? WAX? Garbling out a hurried apology to Velvette, Vox makes his escape. He’s barely managed to flash back to his room before he’s clumsily wrangling open a holographic window to search for Val on the Tower CCTV again. Staggering against his bed, Vox holds on for dear life.
It takes a frustratingly long time to find him, considering the fucker is up in his penthouse. It’s basically a hive of mischief at this point; Vox should have looked there first. What he sees there, however, makes his vision fuzz with static.
In the middle of his bed, Val lies on his belly, bare feet kicking idly. On a silver tray, he has something that looks like a small pot, plugged into the wall. With one hand, he stirs slowly with the wooden stick he’s holding. Next to it, Vox’s cock is half-covered in pink wax and—
And.
Fucking rhinestones?
Dexterous claws tick on the side of Vox’s cock, following the bumps all the way to the tip. Every scratchy stone is the sweetest little vibration. Vox’s balls draw up tightly, clenching. Shock and ecstasy war it out, pushed over the edge as Val lowers his head to give a sticky kiss to his slit.
Vox is done.
“Va-aal...” he moans through his teeth, defeated. Collapsing down onto his knees, his body is finally wracked with shudders. His skin breaks out in imitation goosebumps, roiling wildly. His heated circuits spark deep inside.
Though unattached, he can feel his dick coming and coming, emptying him of everything he has. He can imagine Val’s pleased laugh, full of dark satisfaction, chasing him into shutdown.
A short reboot later, exhausted, Vox peers blearily back at the CCTV. He can barely lift his head, instead manoeuvring the window closer to his face to properly see.
From the bed, Valentino smiles unnervingly into the camera. His dumb, adorable moth-toes wiggle. His claws tick-tick-tick at Vox’s smooth, crystal-covered cock, softening but held upright by its wax coating. Vox flinches, legs tensing. Fuck, that has precisely no right to feel as good as it does.
Vox just barely has the bandwidth to thank his own hairlessness as, with an evil glint in his eye, Val peels up the edge of the wax.
Here’s the plan...
Well, it’s really more like half a plan. Half a TRAP, one might observe, since Valentino is far too wily to give in of his own volition. He’s having far too much fun, torturing Vox like this.
Look, Vox needs his dick back. That’s the beginning and the end of it – and HOW HE GETS THERE isn’t as important as the final result. It’s how he finds himself pacing back and forth in his room, in front of the soaring windows that look down over the city. He grimaces, thinking of all of those countless idiots, swanning around out there with their bits attached to their bodies. They’ve got no idea of how lucky they are! They can probably get to work no problem, without being fondled by a sex fiend with a wildly-unchecked oral fixation.
He’s getting distracted. The plan begins with:
> AUDIO MESSAGE TO: VALENTINO
“Tino, babe. Um, hey. I, I have a little something for you, if you wanna join me. I’m in my room.” Vox clears his throat before he adds, “Love you, by the way.”
That last part is the pièce de résistance of his manipulation. Val thrills at lovey-dovey mush, Vox knows – if he’s caught off guard by a sprinkle of verbal affection, it’ll only be easier to take him down. Never mind that it also makes Vox’s systems heat to say it, let’s ignore that.
It takes only a minute for the reply to come through:
> AUDIO MESSAGE FROM: VALENTINO
> “Oh, Voxxie, something for me? You shouldn’t have. My man is so thoughtful! I’ll be right there, cariño – don’t you go anywhere!”
Val needn’t worry. Vox is staying right here: wearing out the rubber on his shoes and thrumming with nervous energy.
In the end, he’s not sure how many laps he does of his room. But, after far too long, a tall, slender figure appears in the doorway.
“Ah, Vox...” Val sighs, his tone pitching high and whiny as he stretches. “It’s been a fuuucking DAY. We’re gonna have to reshoot three entire scenes all because someone’s tit, er, CAME OFF backstage! Unbelievable mess, real gross. ¡Vaya!” There’s an annoyed puff of smoke. “Are you going to make me feel better, Papito? Do you ha— AH!”
Vox isn’t stupid; Val can pack a mean punch. When it comes to brute physicality, he’s the strongest of the Vees, despite his delicate appearance. Getting the jump on him is a must. And jump Vox does, legs dangling as he hangs from Val’s back.
“Vox, what the FUCK?”
“Give me my dick back, Tino!”
Over his shoulder, Val’s pink eyes bulge when he finally gets it. “¿Cómo? ¿Eh? NO! G-get OFF me!”
A scuffle breaks out. Angry shouts echo. Vox’s desk is almost upended, speakers clattering to the floor. The mattress is bumped askew on its bedframe and goose feathers fall like snow when a pillow is shredded. One of the screens that make up Vox’s headboard smashes beneath Val’s knuckles.
“This HAS TO STOP!” Vox half-wheezes, doubled over with Val’s elbow in his belly. He doesn’t relent, even when sharp teeth snap at him. “Give it up, Val! It’s over!”
Cables spring from Vox’s back, seizing first one arm and then another. A third whips clumsily above their heads; Vox’s control of his body still isn’t perfect, since having to rebuild. Valentino struggles like a mad thing, biting out an angry tirade of syllables. His voice rises to a furious crescendo, and—
Vox’s eyes cross when Val’s livid face looms close. A puff of smoky breath fogs his screen.
“Mmf!”
Lips press to Vox’s own, static jumping between them where they connect. Heat floods his systems, brightening his face in a tell-tale blush. That’s... It’s...
Val’s fist connects with the side of Vox’s head, and that’s that.
> REBOOTING, PLEASE WAIT...
>
>
>
>
> AUDIO: ONLINE
“Vox, Vox, Vox. Really, after that little STUNT you pulled, you’re lucky I didn’t rip off your head again.” There is a pause. “Wow. I’m so nice. Is this my kind era? Ew, I hope not...”
As his processors crackle back to life, Vox wriggles on the hard seat of his chair beneath him. His arms are jammed behind his back, fastened with something that feels suspiciously like fluffy handcuffs. They’re startlingly effective in immobilising him; Val must have looped them through the chair itself before snapping them shut.
> VISUAL: ONLINE
Across from him, Valentino is spread out on Vox’s bed. As always, he’s a vision. His wings frame him in a heart-shape, delicately laid just-so to emphasise his long legs, crisscrossed by fishnets. His top has slipped to reveal the tempting curve of his shoulder. The sight of him might have been deliciously inviting, if not for the dagger-like gaze drilling holes in Vox’s screen.
“Val.” Vox laughs nervously. “Vaaal, is this— is this really necessary, babe? Should we not—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Val wags a finger at him. “Hush now. Cállate la puta boca, amor.”
Vox’s teeth snap instinctively shut.
So, Val doesn’t look mad, but that’s kind of the scariest part. Vox can only swallow around the lump in his throat when his partner produces something small and blue and Very Familiar from the pocket of his robe. Vox’s dick apparently hasn’t got the DANGER memo; it’s already hardening in Val’s hand, practically wagging hopefully.
Traitor, Vox thinks, shooting it a glare of his own.
“You really want this back, huh?” Val turns Vox’s dick casually over, pretending to examine it. “Did you not think of, oh, I don’t know. Asking me nicely?”
“Pfff. Like you would have agreed! I— hhh...” Vox trembles as Val gives him a squeeze, silicone sliding effortlessly through his nimble fingers. Val pouts.
“We’ll never know, since YOU decided to brutalise me like a beast!”
“Val, Tino, I’m sorry – please! Fuck!”
Vox tries not to shudder too obviously when Val rakes him up and down with his eyes. Valentino’s mouth downturns haughtily.
“Hmph. No. I don’t think you are!”
“I-I am! I am so sorry!”
“You wanna know what I think?” When Vox doesn’t reply, Val’s smile widens unnervingly. “I think, someone needs to be taught a lesson.” He blinks. “Ooh, maybe that could be my next feature!”
He’s already reeling at the mental image of Val done up in a sexy-teacher sort of number. (Sweater vest? Sensible shoes? Little spectacles on a chain?) But Vox grits out a desperate sound when his partner starts to play with him, fondling his dick. As far as Val is concerned, Vox is a well-loved toy – he handles him as such, stroking him with practiced ease. Every touch makes Vox burn, tension coiling inside of him. It’s so weird, seeing his cock and balls across the room, but feeling every sensation as though they were attached. Still, he’s apparently into it; he can only stare as his poor dick twitches and drools beneath Val’s ministrations.
“Aah,” Vox pants, red pixels trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Hhh— Val, I... I...”
“You were so bad.”
“Yes... yeah...”
Truthfully, Vox would probably agree to anything right now, given the proximity of Val’s mouth to the fat tip of his dick. The puff of Val’s breath makes him quiver.
“Whatever will I do with you?” Val wonders aloud, and unceremoniously spears the tip of his tongue into Vox’s slit.
A shout shatters the quiet of the room. In his chair, Vox curls over like he’s been punched. The hot bite of pleasure at his core makes him gasp, aftershocks chasing up his sensitive thighs and belly.
Val’s goddamn mouth. Vox trembles when his lover sucks him, lounging on Vox’s sheets and moaning indulgently as he does so. Every vibration makes Vox’s balls draw up tighter. There’s only one thing he prefers, and that’s...
“Uhhah...” Vox gasps out. His CPU swims in a red haze as he watches Val slide the sticky tip of Vox’s cock down his body. Down, down, down, between his firm tits and over the flat plane of his belly, then past where Val’s own dick is an obscene bulge beneath his skirt.
Of course he’s not wearing any panties. Likely, they’re discarded out in the corridor – Val probably knew they’d end up right here when Vox called him.
The fishnet thigh-highs draw the eye right to Val’s centre. When he lifts his own monster of a cock out of the way, his vulva is pretty and pink and already fluttering. Val is wet there, Vox can tell. When he pulls in a breath, vents humming, he can taste his partner’s excitement on the air. An invisible command runs hectic code unbidden in the back of Vox’s processor, making his body respond intensely even with the distance between them.
“My turn now,” Val murmurs, his voice wavering breathily when he slides Vox’s length through his folds. The soft heat of him makes Vox clatter where he sits, claws scraping. Oh god. Oh fuck. Tino. Val. He’s...
Electricity snaps up Vox’s spine, zipping all the way to the top of his head. Blue light flashes. He can’t move. He can’t look away. He’s transfixed as Val pushes Vox’s cock in, taking his time. The inches are swallowed up, agonisingly slow, gradually vanishing into the eager clutch of Val’s body.
Vox is gone. Heaving, whirring, all sorts of humiliating noises pour forth. His knees tremble, legs spread wide as though he’s actually fucking Val – but then, he is, isn’t he? Val certainly seems to be enjoying it; his eyes are half-lidded as he uses Vox, quavering when he pushes in at a particularly pleasurable angle. The soft, lavender thighs shake. The plush squeeze of his insides around Vox is heavenly and sinful all at once.
Hm? Screen flickering, Vox tilts his head. He was sure his audio receptors caught something just now: the tiniest of sighs.
“Vox... Voxxie... My Vox...”
Val is whispering to him. He can’t hold back the little chirps and squeaks from punctuating every breath, head lolling blissfully back as—
There’s a metallic CLANG, and then another. Val’s legs jump, antennae perking when he looks down the length of his body to his captive partner. The wheels of the chair squeal; Vox pulls himself on his cables, now attached to the headboard. He yanks hard at the cuffs as he flies across the room, baring his teeth in victory as he feels the chain between them snap. Yes!
Vox wastes no time in clambering on top. Grasping greedily, responsive flesh fills his hands. Val’s startled trill registers, somewhere on the edges of the frenzy he’s in – but it fades out to a pleased purr. Wings waft up to cocoon them. Val’s good antenna tickles Vox’s neck, his shoulder.
“Val,” Vox pants, “VAL, hhhn...”
“Oh, mi luz,” Val rumbles, eyes curving in wicked delight. “You couldn’t stand it any longer, no? That’s okay. You can have me. You can— hmmh... ah...”
And Vox does, rocking their bodies together even as Val still has his dick in his hand, fully under his control. Val knows what’s good, what makes him tremble. Vox trusts him completely – who else could make him feel this way? He feels incredible. Val feels incredible around him, the wet slide sending warning signals flashing up and down Vox’s body.
He’s... he’s—!
It isn’t often that they climax at the same time, since reality isn’t like Val’s movies. But, as Vox starts to shudder and spurt, screen glitching out... the last thing he hears is Val’s high, singing note of pleasure as it washes over them both.
There’s a bzzt! and the end of Valentino’s cigarette begins to smoulder. Pleased, he takes a long drag. His exhale makes a heart-shaped ring of smoke, drifting above them.
“Mmhm, thank you."
In his bed, Vox holds Val close, fans spinning to pull in the scent of his perfume. He smells particularly expensive today. Everything about Valentino feels luxurious, in fact, from the delicate drape of his wings to the soft, fine hair that covers him from head to toe. Privately, Vox has always especially liked that Val is fuzzy. It’s fun to trace patterns with his claws, watching the skin beneath shiver.
“I’m sorry, babe,” Vox says ruefully. “About before. I— I should have just asked you for it back. Forgive me?”
Reattached now, Vox’s dick sits on his thighs, soft and unassuming. Val traces an idle fingertip around it, humming into the kiss he plants on the edge of Vox’s screen.
“A man’s entitled to his parts, Papito. Of course, I forgive you.” Val peeks suddenly sideways at him. “Unless... NOT forgiving you means yooou’ll shower me in love and affection until I give in?”
Vox snorts, rolls his eyes, hides his grin in Val’s fluff. “Like I don’t do that anyway! You’ve got me wrapped around your little-fucking-finger, is that not enough?”
“Fine, fine!”
That was... easy. Vox frowns. When he feels Val’s forehead, he doesn’t seem to be feverish – but, still, that’s definitely suspicious. “You ARE in your kind era. What the shit, Val.”
“Well, don’t go fucking telling everyone, will you? You and your big, dumb mouth...”
Val certainly seems happy to kiss Vox’s big, dumb mouth – in fact, even as he says it, he’s already leaning in. Vox doesn’t mind. He feels lazy, satisfied in the afterglow. As fun as it has (admittedly) been, pleasuring Val remotely, it’s nice to have him in his arms.
“Oh.” Val turns big, soulful eyes on him. “But, actually, it’s a bit of a shame. Nibbling on you helps me to think. I’ve had so many great ideas this week, Vox!”
Vox’s spent dick twitches. He licks his digital lips.
“Maybe you could, you know. Borrow me, occasionally,” he suggests; perhaps he’s also in a kind era of his own. “We’ll get it in the schedule.”
Valentino smiles.