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Vox can’t remember why he thought this was a bad idea.
Earlier that day they’d signed their 10,000th soul and Val had insisted that they had to celebrate. Vox would be fine with just opening his fancy scotch imported from Gluttony and a movie marathon, but Val insisted that they had to go out.
Vox isn’t the biggest fan of clubs, or watered down drinks, or sweaty grinding or even most music that’s played inside such venues, but Val had gotten Vox to promise they’d go out while he sucked his dick, and well… most of Vox’s worse promises to keep came from Val using sex against him to get what he wants.
Which is how Vox finds himself in their third club of the night, his eleventeenth drink in hand, foot tapping to the music as he sits at a booth. He’s definitely drunk, and okay, he can admit in this moment that alcohol is awesome and he feels more relaxed than he has in months. His head feels pleasantly fuzzy and everything feels more… fun. If he stood up he’d probably feel dizzy so he’s perfectly content with staying in his booth.
Val stumbles back from the dance floor, body sweaty with a big grin on his face. It isn’t a leer, or even a sexy look, but it’s genuine happiness, like Val is having the time of his life.
It’s a good look, Vox thinks as he takes another sip of his whiskey.
“Shots!” Val cries at a passing server. He takes her tray out of her hands and slaps a stack of cash in her hands in return.
“Voxxy! Look what I got~” he singsongs, dancing over with the tray.
“I think I’ve had a few too many drinks tonight. I do have that board meeting tomorrow,” Vox drawls, but he’s so comfortable in the booth he can’t imagine moving right now.
“Pfft, forget that right now. We’re powerful, baby! So many souls in such a short amount of time I bet those old bitch overlords are absolutely fuming,” Val says, throwing a shot glass back.
Vox’s claws curl around a glass without thinking about it and he follows suit.
The music turns from a rock song with lots of head banging into a more disco-like one.
“I love this one!” Val gasps, scrambling to climb onto the plush upholstery with his heels. “Voxxy give me a hand, mi luz.”
Is this bad for their image? Vox can’t find it in himself to care as he offers a hand to help Val up onto the table.
Val straightens his little bodysuit and smooths down his ruff before he’s fully immersed in the music, hips swaying, arms over his head. He sings the music with a sloppy, happy smile in place. It’s not his sexiest performance, and Vox doesn’t think he’s going for that- Val really is just doing what feels right to him at the moment.
Sinners on the dance floor hoot and holler at Val’s table performance, encouraging him to keep feeling himself, this energy, this music.
He laughs when Val turns to him and shimmies playfully at him.
Val turns and spins drunkenly on the table, head thrown back in a laugh.
And it's at this moment, as the strobe lights paint Val in pink light enjoying himself dancing on the table, looking gorgeous and carefree, that Vox feels his heart clench.
Because all of the moments before this one- being human, working up the ladder, dying, Alastor’s rejection, meeting Val- pale in comparison to this moment. It feels like everything he’s ever done is inconsequential now in the face of Val’s genuine joy, a joy he’s sharing with Vox right now.
It’s beautiful, Val is beautiful, and Vox can’t help but think this is the happiest he’s ever been, the most calm and content he’s ever been.
The alcohol’s making him sappy, and he’s sure he has an unbelievably fond look on his face as Val throws back another shot with a laugh.
‘I think I love you,’ he thinks.
And then he throws up.