Archive of Our Own

Velvette was such a nag.

Yes, Val was louder and more destructive than she was, but at the end of the day, he was easy enough to appease once you knew him and Vox knew him, biblically and otherwise. Sure, Val threw his fits, but after it was all said and done, no matter how violent Val got, his wants boiled down to three main demands: he wanted attention, he wanted sex, or he wanted material goods. Sometimes there was the caveat that Angel Dust was involved somehow, and Vox would have to restrain himself for murdering that whore but that hardly mattered. Vox could handle whatever Val wanted with very little fuss, which meant he was left with a happy Valentino and everything could carry on like normal. For the most part, anyway.

Sometimes Val’s demands were especially unreasonable and Vox would have to say no. Val never took kindly to that. They would yell at each other and say awful things they only half meant until the tension boiled over and they fucked the anger out of each other. Everything worked out cleanly in the end.

The point was, Val was simple and so was everything he wanted. Simple and predictable and perfect. Val could be managed and honestly, Vox liked to do it.

(Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. Hell no).

But Velvette? Velvette’s wants had moving parts. Velvette’s wants required negotiation and discussion and, ugh, compromise. He couldn’t just redirect her like he did with Val. Velvette would take a bribe, shove it in her purse, and then go right back to arguing with you. The first time she had done it, Vox respected the pure nerve of it, even if he would have killed her for it had she been anyone else.

Her most recent obsession was a summer clothing line. That much was fine. Vox always allocated a large amount of funds for her seasonal collections. He had no problem with that, they always more than paid for themself. No, the issue was Velvette’s insistence that Vox model her fashions.

The clothes themself were fine. Better than fine, really. Velvette had good taste. She was a woman, that was their whole thing. And Velvette was a cut above other people, women or no.

She had drawn up a variety of different fashions and accessories based on all three of them. For herself, a strappy two-toned bikini. For Val, a speedo and impractical amounts of jewelry. Vox would need to have Velvette send that to them as soon as it was done. For quality assurance purposes.

But then there was what she designed for him.

A Hawaiian shirt and some swim trunks with a little shark on the side. There were arrows pointing to it reading “dad chic” and “tacky but hot anyway.” Rude.

But the real problem was the open shirt, meaning people would be able to see his chest. Vox had very little interest in letting anyone see that particular spot. Not because he was insecure. He knew he was perfect. It was way worse than that.

“For the last time, Velvette, no,” Vox said, turning his attention to a digital display. His talk show ratings were down 0.5%. Damnit. This was Alastor’s fault somehow, Vox just knew it. Yeah Alastor had been missing for years, but still. He would need Ethan to conduct some research on how to fix this.

They were in their living room. Velvette was standing in front of him with sketchbooks in her arms, looking furious. Vox was sitting on the couch, and Val was next to him, long legs laid on his lap. It had been relaxing until Velvette showed up with demands.

“Never thought you’d avoid bein’ an attention hog,” Velvette said, shoving the designs in his face once again. “Did you even look at these? I redid them last night.”

Vox had looked. That was the problem. But take Velvette to interpret a simple no as a personal affront. He could have asked her to alter the designs, but perhaps the only thing that bothered Velvette more than being told no was the suggestion that her work was anything less than perfect.

Vox didn't particularly like hearing the word no either, but, unlike Velvette, he was always right. Saying no to him was just stupid. That was probably why Val was one of the only people who did it. Ha.

“Drop it,” Vox said.

“Oh come on, Vee! If you modeled, this collection would go over the top. Do you even know how many marketing campaigns I could pump out?” Velvette let out an exaggerated groan, like he was being the unreasonable one. “I do so much for this fucking company and you can’t do me this one favor? Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t do this for me.”

That was another thing about Velvette. Her needs may not have been as simple to cater to as Val’s, but she could be equally childish. “I could give you several, my dear, but I’ll settle for one. I’m not going to whore myself out for our magazines. I’m not Val.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Velvette said. “Just because you are too prissy to do it, doesn’t mean you need to criticize Val for being helpful.”

There she went again, always so quick to defend Val. Vox couldn’t understand it. It wasn’t like he ever said anything that wasn’t true, and yet she always tried to gang up on him. It was ridiculous.

“Yeah, Vox,” Val said from his spot next to Vox. “What Velvette said. And, like, would a whore suck you off for two hours straight last night?”

“Yes,” Vox and Velvette said in unison.

Val bared his teeth and pulled his legs out of Vox’s lap (which didn’t bother him at all). It would’ve been intimidating if Vox didn’t know him so well. “Neither of you understand romance.”

“Sure, baby,” Vox said indulgently. “Now, quiet. The adults are talking.”

“Whatever,” Val squeaked in annoyance, turning his attention toward his phone to watch dancing colors or whatever it was that was occupying him. Or maybe he was texting, it looked like he was typing. If so, it was probably just more groveling threats to Angel Dust, but Vox couldn’t be sure. For all he knew, Val had some new obsession to ruin over the next few months.

Come to think of it, Vox hadn’t gone through Val’s phone in quite a while, so who could say if he had any new toys. Vox usually liked to keep track of that sort of thing. He had a spreadsheet. Not that it mattered and not that Vox cared. Vox just liked knowing who Val was using to entertain himself. Val was prone to impulsive decisions that created PR disasters. That was the only reason Vox gave a damn about who he fucked. Obviously.

He would go through that damn phone later if it was the last thing he did.

“Are we done here?” Vox asked, looking back at Velvette. He had work to do, and this conversation was quickly growing tiresome. More importantly, he had to figure out a way to distract Val long enough to hack into his phone. It was so cute how Val thought changing his passcode every few months would do a goddamn thing to stop Vox from going through it.

Velvette stomped her foot, like she was a toddler and not a grown woman. “Absolutely not. Give me the real reason. I know there’s more to it. What, do you not trust me with your image? Me?”

Vox sighed, heavily weighing the idea of simply zapping away. It would end this tortuous conversation, which would be a plus, but it would also leave Velvette even more pissed than she already was. No, he would have to face this head on. Damnit, why did Velvette have to be so immune to his manipulations? “Of course that isn’t it, Velvette.”

He wasn’t saying it only to appease her. Vox trusted Velvette to keep Voxtek, and him by extension, looking good. That is, he trusted her as much as he could trust anyone. She kept their PR as clean as it could be in Hell. He…appreciated it. The word made him recoil internally, but he supposed it fit well enough. She was capable. Vox wouldn’t keep her around if she wasn’t. But that meant she knew she was worth something, and that gave her a big head. This was why you couldn’t treat people with too much respect. They would start thinking you owed them something.

Perhaps that had been Vox’s mistake. He had let Velvette begin to think she had actual worth. Then again, Velvette wouldn’t tolerate being treated as anything less than an equal. It left Vox wanting to put her in her place, to tell her that he had built Voxtek from nothing. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need either of them. He kept them around for, well, reasons Vox refused to give any thought to. And yet, every time the idea crossed his mind in earnest, he felt almost queasy. So he would lecture her, point out when she was being absolutely unreasonable, but he would never diminish her contributions.

And unfortunately, she knew that.

Velvette looked away from him, showing her design to Val. “Name one thing wrong with these designs, huh? Clearly Vox thinks it would ruin the fucking company if he wore them.”

Vox sighed. “Don’t be so dramatic—”

“Oh, I see what the problem is,” Val said, and Vox had the sudden, horrible feeling that this would end very badly for him.

“If you say they don’t look good I’m gonna lose my shit, Val,” she spat

“Touchy. Of course not, Babydoll. You know you don’t make bad designs. It’s just Voxxie doesn't take his shirt off in front of people. Except me, anyway. I’m special,” Val responded casually, still scrolling on his phone. He turned the screen toward Vox, displaying a scrap of fabric that could hardly be classed as clothing. “Vox, I want this dress. Buy it for me.”

And typically, Vox would have bought it without a word, or made Val beg a bit if he had been poorly behaved, or maybe take the chance to pamper Val for the rest of the day, before pounding him into the nearest flat surface. But unfortunately for Val, Vox was far too angry to do any of those things.

They had agreed they wouldn’t ever speak of the “incident” with anyone else, not even Velvette. How could anyone be so damn moronic? Why the hell did Vox put up with him? How had he put up with this insolent brat for decades?

Vox took a deep, slow breath and tried not to scream, even as he felt himself begin to spark.

“Valentino,” Vox hissed through gritted teeth. His voice was staticky, and, not for the first time, he resented his stupid sinner body for making him so damn easy to read. “What the fuck?”

Val blinked. “What? Was I not supposed to say that?”

Vox was going to kill him.

Velvette looked between the two of them, something passing over her expression that Vox couldn’t quite parse. Concern? Confusion? It was gone so quickly that Vox wasn’t able to catch it.

Of course, he could always retrieve the footage later, but something told him he wouldn’t like what he found. Ridiculous. Since when had he become so cowardly?

“Huh. I never took you for bein’ insecure, Vee,” Velvette said, and her tone suddenly lacked its telltale judgemental edge. Odd.

Vox scoffed, gesturing toward himself. “Excuse you. No, I am not insecure. I’m perfect.”

“Right,” Velvette drawled. “Silly of me to think that.”

“He’s right,” Val said. “I can vouch. His waist is like three inches. Super sexy.”

Ha. Good Valentino. All at once, Vox remembered why he kept Val around. He may have been an idiot and a pain, and a number of other negative descriptors, but he was Vox’s idiot.

“Whatever,” Velvette acquiesced, clicking her tongue and turning to her phone.

Her tone may have still been clipped, but Vox could tell she was rapidly losing interest in the conversation. She was about to drop it, thank God.

“Yeah, he just has a tattoo he doesn’t like showing people,” Val said, and Vox felt the air in the room still.

No. Bad Valentino. Very, very bad Valentino. Damnit.

“You’re kidding.” Velvette said, a smile rapidly spreading. She put her phone away, looking nothing short of delighted. All at once, she was interested again. Fuck. “Christmas came early. What, do you have ‘Alastor’ across your chest, or something? Wait, no, don’t tell me. It’s his face isn’t it?”

Vox felt something ugly overtake him.

He hated when Velvette spoke about him. Alastor was before her time. They didn’t fit together in his brain. They were supposed to be separate. Anything else was an abomination. He didn’t want memories of Velvette tarnished with mentions of Alastor. He was so damn sick of that bastard ruining the good things in his life. He was gone now. Had been for years.

Vox felt stripped bare under Velvette’s gaze. But he wasn’t. He was in charge. Always. He just had to reestablish that for his partners. Simple.

“Not funny, sweetie,” Vox growled, his frown only deepening at the grin on Velvette’s face.

“What? Don’t act like you wouldn’t.” She adjusted her hair, still looking so self satisfied.

“He absolutely would,” Val said, but he didn’t share Velvette’s smug smile. Instead he looked oddly serious, like when he was mad at Vox for something Vox couldn't quite discern. It was a quiet anger, a thousand times worse than Val’s explosive fits.

Vox had never liked that look on Val.

Val’s gaze made the back of Vox’s neck prickle, and so he turned his attention away from them both, but it didn’t matter. He could still feel Val’s eyes on his back. He usually loved Val’s attention, fought for it even, but in that moment, he felt so damn exposed.

“Fucking sensitive. I’m just kidding, alright?” Velvette said, but her smile lost its sharp edge. It wasn’t an apology, but why would he have expected one? Could you expect a fish to sprout legs and learn to walk on land? No. So how could he expect Velvette to own up when she was wrong, as she so often was? “It can’t be that bad, Vox. Trust me, I’ve seen some shitty tattoos in my day. It was the 2000s. Even if it’s awful, we can easily fix that with photoshop. We have people for that.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Val crossed and uncrossed his long legs in his stupid tiny skirt. Vox pointedly did not look. That brat did not get the reward of Vox’s attention, did not get to have Vox’s eyes rake up and down that sexy frame, after blabbing Vox’s secret to Velvette. Besides, Vox’s cameras were still recording. He would just watch the footage back later. He had an hour open in his schedule to do just that. Val called it his creepy stalker time. Vox called it necessary reconnaissance. “You can’t improve on perfection. Right, Vox?”

Vox groaned, sinking into the couch. “I can’t let anyone see the tattoo, Velvette. What aren’t you understanding about that?”

Val pulled on Vox’s arm, pretty lips pulled into a mean snarl. “Don’t ignore me!”

Velvette sighed, placing a condescending hand on Vox’s shoulder. “Yikes, that bad, huh? I’ll do it personally then, kay babes? I’ve touched up more than enough photos in my day. I really shouldn’t have to waste my time with this, but if it’ll make you feel better….”

“I said no.” How many times did Vox have to repeat himself?

“Pay attention to me,” Val repeated, voice high pitched and whiney, and Vox ignored him, continuing to shoot daggers at Velvette.

“Oh, come on. Vox, quit bein’ so pissy,” Velvette rolled her eyes, like this was trivial. “What is it? I guarantee I’ve seen worse. You know, once one of my old girlfriends got my name tattooed on her wrist a month after meeting her. Crazy bitch.”

Val looked between the two of them, his displeased expression fading into a horrible fanged smile.

Ah, shit.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Vox commanded.

“What was that?” Val said. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“That’s an order, Val.”

“Heard that, Val? An order.” Velvette smirked at Val. “You gonna’ take that?”

Val, the absolute nightmare that he was, just smiled wider. “No, I’m not. Voxxie knows I don’t follow orders outside the bedroom.”

Velvette snorted.

“Last warning—”

“He has my name tattooed on him rightttt here.” Val poked the place over Vox’s heart.

As Val spoke the words, Vox felt his screen heat to degrees he wasn’t aware were possible. He had to find a deep dark hole to crawl into so he could rot forever. No, he needed to die. It was the reasonable thing to do. Was there some angelic steel around he could use? There had to be, right?

Velvette’s head spun sharply, turning to stare at Val. “Wait, wait, wait. What? Don’t joke, Val.”

Val grinned. “Not a joke. Ooh, wait. Valentino story time! Gather round, mija.”

“If you ever call me that again, I will destroy you, Val.” Velvette looked at Val with pure disgust.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby,” Val said. Velvette rolled her eyes in response, but there was no heat in it. “So, it all started 25 years ago…”

And so, Val began to recount one of the worst nights of Vox’s afterlife (and that was a pretty fucking high honor), and Vox found himself powerless to do anything but relive it.

It had been a goddamn nightmare to import beelzejuice straight from Gluttony. Fucking sinners couldn’t leave the Pride Ring for some damn reason, meaning that goods from other Rings were complete luxuries. Sure, they had their own version of beelzjuice in Pride, but it was cheap garbage. Barely enough to fix a headache. Oh, but Vox had heard stories of the real deal, how it would take away all your pain, make you less drunk and more gone. It sounded dangerous and ill-advised. It sounded like everything Valentino loved. So, Vox set out to figure out how to get some.

Of course, anything could be bought with enough money and effort, but damn had it been a lot of both to get just one bottle of that glowing liquid. But God almighty had it been worth it. Barely a bottle between Val and Vox and they were both absolutely wasted.

But of course they were. The stuff was straight from the source, expensive, and exclusive, which meant it was the perfect gift for his and Val’s anniversary. Which one? Hell if Vox knew. He could hear colors and taste sounds. Who gave a damn about numbers anymore? And he had done so much to celebrate Val before they even broke the beelzejuice out, even if it was all way too fuzzy in his mind for Vox to recall. The important thing was that it was definitely romantic and perfect, just like him. Honestly, how did Vox constantly raise the bar so high? He was the best business partner ever. Maybe he needed to dial it back a bit. He was going to ruin Val for anyone else.

Huh. He liked that idea.

Vox felt fuzzy and weighless. It was weird. He usually hated giving up control and yet he felt on top of the world. No more plans weighing him down. No more anything. It was all pure sensation.

It was why he barely knew how and when they had ended up wandering the streets after dinner, giggling and holding onto each other like they were the only solid things in the world.

Fuck, Val was the most solid thing in Vox’s life, wasn’t he? The only one who had stayed. The only one who had wanted to stay. Everyone else only thought they wanted him. Other Overlords thought he was a pretentious upstart. Alastor thought he was pathetic. Even in life, all his fans, his worthless followers, they loved the God, not the man Vox had worked so hard to kill dead.

Val was the only person who saw Vox, pathetic and weak and mortal, and chose to stick around. Usually, that thought would send Vox spiraling, but now it did little but settle over him like a well-loved blanket. Val wanted him so badly it was sickening. Why did that make his chest so warm?

Val was the one who spotted the tattoo parlor first, though Vox didn’t know how given his piss poor eyes. The point was, it was a quick but difficult affair to stumble into the tattoo shop and demand two tattoos stat.

The shop was run by some emo stereotype of an imp, with dyed hair and far too many piercings. Honestly, he had no class. As far as Vox was concerned, the only people getting needles through their body should’ve been women getting their ears pierced, especially since they had to use angelic needles to get it to stick. What a waste of quality materials. Well, except for Val’s piercings. Those were hot which meant it was totally okay.

Tattoos were awful too. The body was a temple after all. You weren’t supposed to desecrate it so you could look like an All-American Reject, but they were sinners. Any tattoos they got would just heal over. What they were doing was just for fun, the equivalent of a temporary tattoo you’d get at some sketchy carnival.

“We need…” Vox closed his eyes for a moment, taking great pains to focus. “We need to decide what tattoos we want, Val.”

“Huh?”

“Fuckin’ decide. On what to get.”

“Hmmmm. Ooh, idea. Let’s get each other's names,” Val suggested. His voice was so pretty. Pretty and smooth and soft. How had Vox never noticed that before? No, he had noticed, he had just forced himself to ignore that sexy timbre. It was perfect. Everything about Val was perfect.

Actually, on that note, Val was pretty and smooth and soft too. Hahaha.

“Vox,” Val whined, pulling on his arm. “You’re not listening.”

No, but he was hearing him. That was half of listening, right? Maybe? Probably? Probably maybe possibly. Anyway, what had Val’s idea been again? Probably some stupid shit. As always, it was up to Vox to be the brains of the operation.

What could they get? Their logos? No, too boring. What were they, one of the souls, with nothing to their names? Wait. Vox had an idea. Vox had the best idea ever.

“Oh my God, you’re so needy,” Vox complained because it felt right, even now. What else could he do but rebuke Val whenever he got the chance? “I was thinking. We’ll fuckin’ get our names on us. I’ll get yours and you’ll get mine. There.”

Val looked at him oddly. “Yay? Good idea, baby.”

Val was right. It was a good idea. A great one even! God, Vox came up with the best ideas always all the time.With Vox’s name on his skin, Val could be his property, branded for eternity. Or well, branded for the week it would take the tattoo to fully fade. But it would be the hottest, most romantic week of Vox’s life. Like, platonic romance between best friends. Or, not friends but partners. In business. Who fucked the shit out of each other. Simple.

And Vox? Well, he would get the tattoo because Val wouldn’t agree to this whole thing otherwise. Sure, that reasoning worked. Man, usually his justifications and denial took up so much brainpower. Everything he was feeling was so simple suddenly. Was this how Val’s whores felt all the time? No wonder they were so willing to live under his thumb.

Being intoxicated was awesome! Vox could make a religion out of this, but Val hated it when he tried to start religions. Jerk.

Oddly enough, though, he wasn’t annoyed about it. Usually, Vox found Val winded him up more than calming him down, but in that moment he felt so at peace. No one else mattered, not really. He couldn't even care what the imp in front of them thought. He was probably jealous. Who wouldn’t be? Vox had Valentino. Vox had everything.

“Um, sirs,” the tattoo artist spoke up quietly. “I’m not sure how wise that is.”

Vox let out a burst of static. Was this worthless little bitch questioning him? Oh, he would live to regret that.

Vox didn’t get a chance to reply before Val snarled an angry, “Shut up, virgin.”

“But—“

“Quiet,” Vox hissed. “My partner here just gave you an order. Follow it.”

No one could brush off Val but him. The imp clearly got the memo, quieting instantly. Pity. Vox had been looking for an excuse to tear him apart.

“My hero,” Val purred, caressing Vox’s screen.

Ah, that felt nice.

“Always. Now, fucking where should I…where should I get it?” Vox groaned, head pulsing with the difficulty of trying to actually think something through. He thought too much. It was annoying. It made him sad. He was always sad. Yuck. “I can’t let just anyone see it.”

Val raised his hand excitedly, “Omg, wait. Get it over your heart, Voxxie. Then I can, like, get mine on my palm. Then our names can fucking touch when I fondle your tits.”

“That shit’s gay, Val.” Honestly, how Val missed these things, Vox would never know.

“But it’s romantic,” Val countered. “And like, also, isn’t it kind of sexy? Just imagine it. Us, naked. My hand, right here.”

Val laid a hand on Vox’s chest, and Vox distantly felt a lightbulb explode.

Holy shit. Vox could imagine that. Vox was imagining that. He was sold. “That’s true. I’ll get it over my heart then. You got that, virgin?”

The imp spoke up yet again, “Once again, I really don't advise doing something like this while drunk.”

Ugh. The absolute nerve of that creature.

“I’m not drunk. I had…oneteen drinks only.” Was that a number? Probably. “Who cares even if I was? We’re sinners, jackass. It’ll just go away in a week, right?”

The imp huffed out an annoyed little sound, like he was the one being wronged somehow. “Well, normally yes, but these needles are for—”

“Vox. I’m bored. And he’s ugly,” Val whined, pressing his cheek to Vox’s.

“He is,” Vox agreed. He didn’t really have an opinion, but Val always smiled so wide when Vox validated him. Vox liked that smile. Vox liked it when Val was happy. It was far too rare an occurrence.

Sure, Val acted happy, but Vox could tell when it was a pretense, when the broad grins and chipper tone didn’t reach his eyes. Val spent so much time performing, playing at being delighted when he was hollowed out and miserable on the inside. Like something had been carved out of him that could never be filled. Vox felt that hole too. Misery loved company. Maybe that’s why they were so perfect for each other.

Val once said he wasn’t sure if he knew how to be happy. He thought he was, but how could he know if he was doing it right? Hearing that had made Vox feel all weird and bad. Val wasn’t supposed to make Vox sad.

Well, fuck that. Vox would make sure Val was never ever sad when he was around.

The imp’s stupid little tail shot out. “Excuse me? I’m trying to do you a favor here. Don’t you get that?”

Val pressed a hand to the imp’s shoulder, and though his voice was still slightly slurred, he spoke with utter confidence. “How about I do you a favor, hm? I’ll give you a warning. Most people don’t get that. If you say one more word against me, I’m killing you slowly, and careering each of your parts around town. Understood?”

“I…I…”

“I understand? Because a little imp like you won’t regenerate. Lucky you, baby. It’s not a fun process to regrow limbs.”

The imp took a shuddering breath and nodded silently. Huh. He caught on quickly.

Val patted him on the head, ignoring the way he flinched. “Good boy. So are you going to do our tattoos?”

The imp nodded again.

Val clapped excitedly. “Yay. Did you hear that, baby?”

He had. Val was awful. It was awesome.

“Nice job, Val. Imma’ get one that says Fuck Alastor too,” Vox decided. Ha. Yeah, that would show him. Vox wasn’t sure exactly how, but once he figured it out, that would be the best idea he’d ever had, and Vox had a lot of great ideas.

Val swatted lightly at his screen, “No the fuck you are not. I want this to be for us. Get the Alastor one a different day.”

“But Val.”

“Voxxie.”

Damn it. Val was so much better at the sexy whining thing. That wasn’t fair.

“Fine,” Vox agreed, and he was maybe pouting just a bit. But Val had a point, as much as Vox hated to admit it (so he wouldn’t). Why ruin such a happy day with Alastor?

Alastor. Huh. What was Alastor doing? Vox missed him. Vox missed him a lot all of the time. He hated that he missed him. Or maybe he missed who he was back then, the Vox that was so confident he could be loved. That Alastor could love him.

And yeah, he had Val, but what was stopping Val from leaving just how Alastor had? Their partnership? Please. Val was fickle. It was amazing he had stuck around as long as he had. It was because he needed Vox. Vox would keep it that way.

So he couldn’t care about Val as deeply as he did Alastor. He wouldn’t let himself want a picket fence or 2.5 little brats running around. He refused to yearn for Val’s hand in his, Val saying that he loved him, that he wanted him more than anything else.

Not that Vox wanted any of that sappy shit. Cause he didn’t. Yeah.

Okay maybe he sort of did but what the fuck ever. Ugh, he was so gay. Did beelzejuice make you gay? Fuck, he hoped not. But Val drank it too. Did that make Val more gay or did it, like, undo it? Was that a double negative? A double gay negative?

Vox squinted in Val’s direction. God, he was pretty.

“You’re so perfect.” Val sighed contentedly, oblivious to Vox’s internal monologue. Of course he did. It was true.

And yet, Vox was smiling like an idiot anyway. “Only for you, baby. I love you. Love you soooo much.”

Huh. Had Vox ever said it out loud before? He had certainly thought it, before he smothered the thought mercilessly. It felt good to say. He wanted to say it all day every day. He wanted Val all day every day. Not even for sex. Just for him. Only him. He needed Val to know that. Vox always wanted more. He knew that about himself, and yet, he could’ve died happy in that moment if he knew Val felt just how much Vox loved him.

Val's face went bright red, and he smiled a brilliant smile Vox had never seen before. “Me too. I love you too, Vox.”

“No, I love you,” Vox said. It was fun to say. It made him feel even more warm and tingly than he already did.

“Fucking bitch! I already said I loved you!” Val took a picture off the wall, throwing it angrily

The imp, who had been sitting quietly in the corner shot up. “That was the only photo I had of my parents…”

Val raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Wait, Val. Hold on. Ignore him. What if we loved each other?”

Val stared at him wide eyed for a few moments.

“Voxxie,” Val purred, draping himself over Vox’s shoulders, “That’s totally it. You're so smart.”

Vox knew that but hearing Val say it always felt so, so good. “I know.”

“Let’s get these fucking tattoos and then we’re going to go home and have the best sex ever.”

Holy shit, Vox was gonna cry. Was this what true love felt like? Yeah, it must’ve been. Love wasn’t supposed to hurt. It wasn’t supposed to break you in two.

And like yeah he argued with Val all the time but that was because Val was an idiot. The fighting was just foreplay.

“Yes,” Vox agreed easily. “Yes, let’s do that.”

God, Vox was a genius. And he had a super sexy business partner, who he could make great decisions with, no matter how much liquor they had pounded back.

As Vox sat down in the chair, he felt very good about the whole thing. There was no way he would regret it. Nice.

But Vox did regret it, because a week passed, and the tattoos didn’t fade. Hell, they were still going strong after a month. Val thought it was funny, but Vox was fucking furious. So, they did what any rational, well adjusted people would do.

They tracked down the imp, cornered him in an alley, and demanded to know what he had done to them. Why were the tattoos still there?

Angelic tipped needles apparently. It was a new method of tattooing that was becoming popular among sinners. Unlike normal needles imps used that would just heal over on sinner skin (or fur, or scales or whatever else) angelic tipped needles would look as fresh and shiny as the day they got them.

Vox was too embarrassed to even kill the imp. They just paid for his silence and went along their merry way, promising to never speak of it again.

“Soooo that's why Voxxie can’t show his chest,” Val said, clapping his hands as if he was closing a storybook. “The end!”

Velvette looked between the two of them for a moment, then rolled her eyes with a loud scoff. “Nice try. I know when you’re fuckin’ with me Val.”

“What? But I’m not. Promise.”

“This story is full of holes,” Velevette said. “How wouldn’t you know they were using angelic needles? That’s how tattoos work down here.”

“Angelic needles were a hot new thing at the time, and it wasn’t like we had social media to find out about it. It was before your time, baby. Before the exterminations there was like, no angelic steel anywhere. Who knows how they found it,” Val explained.

“Also, we were very drunk,” Vox added because that was important context that was going ignored. He would have never done something so damn stupid and sentimental otherwise.

“Yeah right.” Velvette snorted. “Then how come I’ve never seen a tattoo on your hand then? I’m not stupid.”

“Hm? Oh, that’s because I got it in black.” Val extended his hand for Velvette to examine.

Velvette rolled her eyes, but she took Val’s hand. “That’s fucking stupid.”

“We were drunk,” Vox repeated, through gritted teeth.

“Still, bein’ drunk doesn’t mean—oh my God.” Velvette looked at Val’s palm, ghosting a finger along it. “You actually have Vox’s name tattooed.”

“It’s extra faint because Vox was scared the tattoo artist was gonna’ hurt me,” Val was all but bragging as he said it. Vox was going to kill him double dead. “He was all like ‘If you hurt my business partner I’m going to kill you friends and family. He’s delicate, be careful.’ It was cute.”

Velvette laughed sharply. “Ha! Sounds like him. Alright, Vox, lemme’ see.”

“What?”

“The tattoo. Friends don’t keep secrets,” Velvette said.

Vox shook his head. “You’re just going to make fun of me.”

Not that he cared. Not that he gave a damn about Velvette’s opinion.

…But still.

“Me?” Velvette gasped. “Never.”

“She’s too pure of heart,” Val agreed.

Vox hated them both dearly.

With a loud sigh, Vox pulled down his shirt.,

There, right over his heart, was Valentino’s name in an elegant black scrawl. Instinctually, Vox put a hand over it. Just to hide it. Obviously.

Val smiled like he always did when he saw the tattoo, all goopy and wide eyed. “Sexy, right, Vel?”

Velvette stared. “Holy shit. You were tellin’ the truth.”

‘You know I’d never lie to you, Babydoll.” Val made a face. “Wait, hey! What do you mean I was telling the truth? Duh. My tattoo wasn’t proof enough?

Velvette stared blankly. “Gonna’ be honest here cause I love you, Val. No.”

“Vox, she’s being mean again,” Val whined, draping himself over Vox’s lap.

Velvette shook her head, standing up with a look of disgust. “You two are morons. How the fuck did you manage before I joined?”

“Love you too, baby.”

Velvette just huffed loudly, grabbing her designs. “I’ll rework the campaign, design you a wetsuit or something, but you owe me big, Vee. This is going to set me back by weeks. Fuckin’ idiots.”

“Thank you, Velvette,” Val sing-songed. He turned to Vox with a smile. “Say thank you, Vox.”

Vox glared at Val.

Val smiled even wider. “Oh, right. I forgot you suck.”

“No, you suck!” Vox snapped, but Val just kept grinning.

“Only when you ask me to, Lover Boy.”

“V-xxx-al—”

“You both suck,” Velvette said definitively. They were the last words she uttered before she stormed out the room.

After she left, Val turned to him with a wide smile. “That went well!”

“You’re kidding.”

“You know I don’t kid. That was your karma for being such a jerk to me earlier. Speaking of jerking, are you in the mood for a quickie?”

Vox just groaned into his hands. Val had absolutely no shame. But then again, Vox did have a gap in his schedule.

Vox nodded.