Chapter Text
If you had asked Valentino this fine hellish morning what his day would look like, he wouldn’t have thought it possible in a million years it would end with him posing on a pole to prove a point to his dumbass employees. Especially when aforementioned employees were the ones actually supposed to pole dance for him.
Now normally, Val made short work of employees with shortcomings. He didn’t have the patience nor the will to gentle parent people too stupid to do their job. Incompetence always got under his skin with vicious barbs, and since their souls belonged to him per contract it wasn’t like they could file a complaint if he got too physical for their liking. And why would they. This was Hell. One unfortunate disembodiment didn’t change the fact they’d respawn somewhere in the Pride ring right after and, usually within the hour, stumble back to V tower as their contracts obligated them to, looking worse for wear but in most cases not any less fuckable, which was Val’s only point of interest in these matters.
The very, very only reason Val hadn’t ripped the three newish girls to bloody shreds yet was dear Vox. He’d asked Val for an ounce of countenance regarding the bloodshed he’d leave in his wake on a regular basis, wherein ‘asking’ entailed a hearty bit of shouting and an impossibly lengthy lecture on occurrences of damage and costing. It had been drier than sliding against sandpaper, and if Val ever had to endure so many numbers in such a short span of time again, and painfully sober too, he’d resort to blowing his brains out.
Which was a mess nobody, especially not Val, was looking forward to, so he funnelled his violence into a dance performance instead.
“Eyes towards your audience at all times. You’re not making me money by keeping them glued to the damn pole.” Val was currently arched forward lightly so only his two upper hands and his crossed legs made contact with the pole behind him. He was only a few feet off the ground but in combination with his towering height the position forced the wannabe pole dancers to crane their pretty necks to hold his gaze.
One face more anxious than the other. That was to be expected. But Val’s left eyebrow shot up when one of them lifted a clawed hand before she had the gall to speak up. “Mr. Val—Valentino, sir, I’m so sorry that was my mistake, I — I was just checking my grip!”
“Nobody cares about your grip on stage.” Good thing Val had two of his hands free because he really needed to massage his temples with those. “If you fall, do it in style. Nobody cares as long as it looks sexy.” He relaxed the grip of his upper two hands on the pole abruptly to lurch forward, resuming it last second to keep him from actually crashing into the trio that shirked from him with a collective gasp. If he had more revealing clothes on — and a pair of tits to go with it —, they’d be currently staring at his cleavage. As it was, he smiled down at them without any warmth. “See what I mean?”
The three girls nodded fervently up at him, until the one in the middle volunteered to speak on behalf of the other two, although her voice, too, was wavering. “Yes, sir, absolutely. We can absolutely do that!”
The fists Val had around the pole tightened. “I hope you can ab-so-lute-ly do far more than that,” he said and had to focus on his smile to keep it from turning into a sneer. “This is about expression and coordination, fluidity and transitions. I expect a proper performance, not that stroke of a choreography you just performed for me.”
He was met with more hastened blinking, likely to hold back tears, another step taken back like he didn’t notice that. The utter witlessness drove him almost mad enough to throw caution to the wind and accept the total destruction he’d wreck once he got his hands on their puppet bodies. But the notion unfortunately reminded him there was a second reason he really shouldn’t — they were transferred over from Velvette’s department, which was obvious in their supremely picturesque bodies that had also been plastered all over the other overlord’s social media for the past week.
Three of my best dollies will soon be performing at Valentino’s — comment down below who you’re most excited for!!!
And: Gifted the prettiest souls to Val because that’s what besties do ~ XOXO
It didn’t matter that all three were literally negatively talented in Valentino’s field. He had to somehow turn this around without disassembling them into their individual puppet parts. Otherwise, the next thing he’d have to do with any parts would be picking his own back up from the floor after Velvette was through with him.
His hands were beginning to sweat from holding onto the very same part of the pole for so long. Faced with the options of either letting go or changing his grip, he did the latter and already found himself melting back into the pole. Pole dancing was, of course, a vital part to his daily dealings and it was most helpful to know the actual art of what he was promoting and selling, be it in clubs or in films. But the times of stretching and twisting his own body for money and attention lay far behind him.
So, it was equal parts startling and thrilling to find out Val might have pushed back the memories of where he had once started while his body hadn’t forgotten a thing that had been drilled into it over the years. Nothing like the pampered models before him who had no idea of the very literal blood, sweat and tears it took to conjure something out of nothing.
His upper arms were lightly trembling from a mix of exertion and anger, so he found himself moving. Val hadn’t meant for this demonstration to drag on any longer. Then again, maybe it had ceased being a demonstration several minutes ago and had more like morphed into an outlet for the turmoil clutching at his insides.
He hooked one arm around the pole to stabilise him by the crook. His whole body tensed as he leant against the single point of contact, counterbalancing himself until he could unhook his legs and hang on only by his arm, yet be perfectly suspended in air. He knew the act seemed to defy gravity, that being the reason it never ceased to struck onlookers with awe like it was the case right now. Several surprised intakes of breath were taken, but Val barely noticed.
The erotic music they had put on for their test run contained awful lots of artsy oohs and aahs and Val’s ears were close to bleeding from the insufferable loop. Hearing the same damn melody another time was fuelling him to hook his legs back around the pole and switch into a slow gyration around what served as his only anchor point. He flexed his legs just so to accelerate until the doll faces watching him warped into faceless silhouettes flashing past and his fury got pulled from him by the centrifugal force tearing at him.
In a flash, he fanned out his wings. The red-and-pink membranes inflated in the draft he had kicked up, and the air drag slowed him down so immediately his head hadn’t yet caught up with it and let his vision continue to spin for a few more turns.
He didn’t make the conscious decision to use the remaining momentum to bring his body into the horizontal, one leg artfully outstretched, the other bend over the first at the knee while he kept all four of his arms draped around the pole in varying poses. Under him, the furry edge of his wings was gracing the floor like a heavy cape.
Luckily, he was wearing something under the short checkerboard dress he’d put on today or he’d be flashing the trio with every full turn he did on the pole, which probably wouldn’t have helped his cause. Although that thought only occurred to Val when he at last briskly slid down from the pole and the bang of his shiny knee-high boots hitting the floor awoke him from his unexpected bout of passion.
The trio was staring at him like they had to keep their jaws in check to not have them fall to the floor, which they seemed extremely anxious about because they couldn’t tell if that might be just the reaction Val expected from them.
Val’s irritation had somewhat abated, but his trigger fingers were still twitchier than usual. He busied them with adjusting his glasses. “This is a show,” he began and all three girls immediately perked up like they just got zapped by a taser, “same as the catwalks Velvette sent you on until now. Difference is if looking pretty is your only virtue, you will get yourselves devoured by the crowd out there. You’ll need to own the stage if you want to make it out in one piece.” He waited for a beat but with all the gulping and the fearful looks he was receiving, it was clear, there would be no more backtalk. He hummed lowly. “I strongly suggest keeping that in mind during the dancing lessons I’ll be graciously sponsoring for you. Get better, and do so fast if you want to stay on my good side. And now — get lost.”
Just a little demonic force behind those last two words, and Val’s amplified voice cracked through the room like a whip. The assembled models startled and bolted for the door, suddenly reduced to chickens — it was worlds apart from the dignified strides they had to be used to from Vel’s fashion shows. The difference would be hilarious if not also so pitiful.
Puta mierda. Val badly needed to form a habit of double-checking so-called gifts from Velvette before accepting them. What a shitty start to his week.
When the doors slid shut behind the fleeing trio, he was already back to leaning against the pole while he fumbled to pull a cigarette from the small poach attached to the unsurprisingly heart-shaped belt of his dress. The intensity of how intensely his fingers shook increased with each futile try of sticking it into his cigarette holder. Now, where did he put the damn lighter?
The air of the room swelled for a fraction. Val had just enough time to spin around and watch as one of the CCTV cameras installed in the room released a bright blue bolt of electricity that shot down to the floor before inexplicably taking up the form of a man again. A man with a TV on his shoulders and a death wish in his heart, considering he chose this very moment to barge in like he owned the place.
Vox. And he did technically co-own the place because the whole fucking studio was on Vees grounds and, by extension, it was Vees property. But Val couldn’t care less about legalese jumble. Everything in here was red velvet and pink hearts. The centrepiece was a pole easily fifteen metres high. His fucking symbol — a fucking ‘V’ with fucking moth wings on it — was on the front door and the first thing one saw upon entering. This was his, and Vox was intruding to mess with him.
Val forgot the struggles with his cigarette momentarily as violent thoughts crept back into his head. The overlord in front of him was wearing his usual attire sans suit jacket. With the sleeves of the white dress shirt rolled back past the elbows, Vox’s dark forearms were bare as he moved to clasp his hands beneath his back. “Am I disturbing anything?”
Normally, an unannounced visit like this would lift his spirits in no time. However currently, Val straightened his back so strongly his spine creaked. “My, my, if that isn’t my favourite CEO on his time off,” he said in a sing-songy voice to drown out the spite beneath. “In my humble abode out of all the places! What do I owe the pleasure to?”
Vox lifted one hand to indicate with a thumb the camera he’d just teleported through like it was a cab he’d hopped out of. “Saw your spirited performance.”
Val’s grin twitched. He’d lose his shit if Vox thought this was the moment to zip in, be a jerk, start another goddamn lecture. “I wasn’t performing. I was instructing.” He moved his two closest hands to the pole, gripping it tightly to try to ground him. “Because apparently, I’m surrounded by wimps who wouldn’t know how to move their bodies right if their lives depended on it. And as it happens, their lives do depend on it.”
Instead of the dreaded lecture, Vox grimly nodded his assent. “You’d think imminent death would be a greater motivator.”
“Riiight?” Val’s relief was so overwhelming he couldn’t hold it back fast enough. “Fuck, finally someone who gets it. Like, did you hear their kindergarten commentary?” He let his voice climb up into a squeaky, nasal register. “Oh, Mr. Valentino this, Mr. Valentino that. You’re going sooo fast, Mr. Valentinooo. Well, dipshits, it needs to match the music, doesn’t it?” He interrupted himself before his voice could get too jittery with the undercurrent of suppressed anger. He robotically moved is cigarette to his mouth to calm his nerves with the rush of the nicotine before he remembered the aggrieved lighter he hadn’t yet managed to find. He groaned, moving one hand up to clutch at his forehead. “What the hell was Vel thinking — it’s like they exchanged their brains for tits! One denser than the other!”
Vox, prick that he was, had nothing better to do than to snicker. At least one of them got some amusement out of it. “You know Velvette doesn’t have IQ as a selection criterion for her employees. Though neither did you last I checked.” Unprompted, he extended one hand, thumb and index finger poised to snap.
Val unhesitatingly took him up on the silent invitation. He held out his cigarette to allow Vox to light it with an electrified snap of his fingers. Then, he took his sweet time dragging on it as deeply as he could in one breath before he exhaled bright pink smoke around his next words. Now, that was almost like he could think straight again. “Well, no. But that’s because if they’re intelligent enough to find the right hole, they’re usually good to go for filming. But this trio?” He flung one arm out to the side. “This is more than subpar. Don’t we have some kind of quality control?”
“They got excellent ratings as models.” Vox curiously let his eyes wander over the stage area, and then over the nearest seating accommodations.
“That I highly doubt. They’ve got the body awareness of a broom — how is that even possible as a model? You’re the one who’s hogging the cameras all day. What exactly does Velvette have them do in her studio?”
At last, Vox seemed to have found what he was looking for. He was casually walking over to the middle of the couch that took up the front row of the main stage as he said, “I tend to drift off when she has them walk across the same runway for the billionth time. But you know her business.”
“Hmm, yeah, sure do. Clothes, social media, more clothes.” Put like that, Valentino’s business could be summarised just as easily. Pornos, clubs, more pornos. Or simpler and more all-encompassing: sex. But he couldn’t refrain from being petty even when he was sitting in a glass house himself. “In my days, you needed to have at least some talent to make it in Hell, not just, like, exist and pose.”
Vox raised an eyebrow at him from his new spot on the couch. “Which isn’t what’s Velvette’s doing. She’s got a tight business plan backing her game.”
“Ugh, yeah, no need to placate me. I’m not stupid enough to shit on Vel. It’s just — ugh, this hellhole is getting too soft for my liking.”
Their eyes met for a beat and both of their looks screamed ‘Everything was better back then’ so blatantly loud, Vel would once more call them pathetic old men if she were here to witness it. In Val, however, it woke a fuzzy feeling of kinship.
He contemplated Vox for a moment who sat like he’d taken up residence on that particular couch not for quick chat but for something more. Legs comfortably spread but ready to tense, hands loosely on his thighs but ready to brace himself on his knees and lean forward. Val had seen that kind of anticipatory expectation too often to not recognise an audience when he saw one.
“Sooo,” Val drawled with a smile after another drag of his cigarette bathed him in more of that bright, colourful smoke, “what can I do for you?”
“What you were doing before was fine,” Vox said, gruffy exterior back to exert control.
Val followed Vox’s gaze to the pole that extended from next to him up until where it met the ceiling. “Mmmh, up there, yeah? Damn, papito, if I’d known you’d be paying a visit I would’ve put some body glitter on.”
That prompted Vox to roam his eyes all over him with a hunger that quite frankly took Val by surprise, even when he knew he dressed the part. Untucked wings revealed the low-cut dress with its corset-style bodice that snug his chest so tightly his nipple chain stood out against the fabric if you squinted your eyes enough. The dress ended at his thighs, leaving a stretch of fishnets-covered skin between the dress and the beginnings of his boots — Vox’s gaze lingered especially long on that part. It was with a tangible reluctance he looked back up at Val’s smirking face. “You’re looking good without,” he said with grave finality, like he was the fucking quality control Val had complained about just a minute ago.
Well, someone’s certainly in a mood. Val knew he was eye candy without further confirmation needed, but Vox’s words went down like honey either way. “Oh, you’re a gentleman today, alright.” Which was pretty damn convenient. Because having to fend for himself in a drawn-out fight with Vox would’ve been the cherry on top of his already frail patience
But this? This made him gladly forget his barely averted blowup.
He found his eyes scouring and the room suddenly teeming with possibility. A torturously slow circle around the pole to really capitalise on the anticipation, followed by a hard twist to pull his audience back from that dreamy state of arousal. He could let his clothes ride up against the friction of the pole and either let them stay there to appear more debauched by the minute, or smooth them back down in a fake display of chastity. Or he could go ahead and full-on strip, one piece per stage of his act until he would flick his discarded thong at that flustered screen face watching his every move.
Val felt as stupidly giddy as a hell-spawn child on Sinsmas. This wasn’t any audience. Vox, it was Vox watching. Not from some far-off surveillance room, but here, live and in colour.
This night would be a showstopper of a performance, even if that was the last thing Val would make sure of.