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If someone had asked Vox while he was alive what he thought might be an exciting thing to keep his sex life fun and interesting might be, ‘sexy lobotomy’ would not have been on the list. Well, maybe as a fantasy. Certainly not anything he’d considered seriously.
There’s a lot he’d never considered seriously until he met Valentino. And, for better or worse, that includes shoving what’s basically a fancy ice pick into his partner’s brain in order to keep things fresh. It’s not that sex with Valentino could ever be called boring, but he’s a demanding lover, fickle and quick to whine if he feels like they haven’t gotten really kinky in a while. So Vox does his best to keep up with that insatiable appetite for new sexual experiences.
It helps, of course, that any damage sustained will be gone within a matter of hours, days at the most. They can rip each other apart as many times as they please. If angelic weapons aren’t involved, everything is fair game.
So, yes, Vox has discovered that he likes lobotomies. Well, probably only when it happens to Valentino—he deals with people whose brains might as well be soup on the daily anyway, and he doesn’t need any more, but it’s inconsequential here. It’s not about turning Valentino into someone dumb; it’s about turning him into someone dependent.
It’s something of a rare treat, given that Valentino also has an image and career to maintain. He can’t work as usual when he has no idea what’s going on and is susceptible to anything anyone tells him. So this particular kink is reserved for rare days off, or special occasions, and they’re both more than enthusiastic to jump at the opportunity when it arises.
“Stop touching the tools,” Vox says, smacking Valentino’s hand lightly as he messes with the surgical instruments laid out on the tray beside the bed. “Do you want an infection? That’s how you get an infection.”
“It’d be better by tomorrow if I did,” Valentino argues, but sets down the orbitoclast anyway. It must seem like a ridiculous scene to any outside viewers—not that there would be, since Vox would slaughter anyone who witnessed this. Valentino is already stripped down to his underwear, a delicate lacy black set that leaves nothing to the imagination, while Vox wipes down the tools again with a grumble.
“Sit up straight,” Vox says when he’s done, taking the orbitoclast and a small metal mallet in his hands. Valentino does so, and it takes all of Vox’s willpower to not get distracted by his chest while he lines up the shaft with Valentino’s right eye. “Ready?”
“Course I am, baby.”
“Good. Don’t blink,” Vox says, and carefully slides the orbitoclast under Valentino’s eyelid and up into the socket. The thin rod goes in easily, meeting barely any resistance until he feels it hit bone. He studies his partner’s face for any sign of pain, only positioning the mallet when he’s sure everything is going smoothly so far. There isn’t even a flinch from Valentino; he’d told Vox after their first time trying this that it really hadn’t hurt much as expected, and his pain tolerance is astronomically high anyway, so there’s no need to sedate him to keep him in place.
Vox taps the mallet firmly against the end of the rod. There’s a muted crunch as the orbitoclast is forced through the thin bone that separates eyeball from brain. Valentino’s body tries to jerk forward of its own accord, but Vox has prepared for this and keeps his grip firm and steady as he taps the tool with the mallet once again, more gently this time. Valentino stops spasming, and Vox allows himself to relax ever so slightly. The hardest part is over. Well, maybe not the hardest, but certainly the most stressful. It’s not like they’re using angelic steel, but Vox doesn’t appreciate the thought of himself fucking up something like this unintentionally and getting the thing stuck in Valentino’s skull or something. Once was more than enough.
With the instrument now lodged firmly in Valentino’s brain matter, Vox is able to take a moment to set down the mallet and readjust his position. He studies his partner’s eyes—Valentino may not have pupils, but Vox can tell when his gaze is shifting. Both his eyes seem to be moving, which is good; it means Vox probably hasn’t hit anything important on his way in.
“Doing okay, Val?” After a few disastrous incidents, they’d decided something of a “coherence” check was needed before shit got real. Well, really real. Even with Vox’s careful calculation, there’s always a chance of slicing the wrong bit and rendering Valentino a vegetable for the next few hours. That can be fun, too, but it’s not exactly what either of them are going for tonight.
Valentino’s eyelids twitch as he hums low in his throat. “Mhm.”
“Okay, kind of need you to say an actual word for me, hon,” Vox says. “Fuck, I was sure I didn’t go too deep…”
“M’fine,” Valentino says, slurring but still intelligible. “I’m good. We’re good. Let’s go.”
Vox still has his doubts. “You’re sure?”
“Voxxy,” Valentino says, much too sweetly for someone with a metal stick in their eye socket, “baby, either slice my fucking brain up or get this thing out of my head.”
“Okay, yeah, you’re fine,” Vox says dryly. “Deep breath.”
Valentino does so, and on the exhale, Vox begins to move the orbitoclast up and down.
The metal slices through tissue like a knife through butter. Severing, disconnecting—a flesh brain may not be quite the same as Vox’s hardware, but the principle is close enough. Valentino groans, eyelids fluttering, but otherwise stays perfectly still. His body is in too much shock for him to make a dirty joke about the wet squishing sounds happening in his head, which is probably for the best.
It’s a speedy procedure, as only a few movements are more than enough to get the job done. With a quick but careful motion, Vox pulls the orbitoclast down and out, careful to keep it straight and away from the vital nerves of Valentino’s eye. There’s a trickle of blood from the exit point, which Vox wipes away gently once he’s put down the tool. He brings his finger to his mouth and licks the blood from it before leaning in close to his partner.
Valentino’s jaw is slack, and drool slips from his mouth. He stares forward blankly, looking just like sinners do when they’re under Vox’s thrall.
In only a few moments, the damage Vox has wrought upon Valentino will begin its attempt to correct itself—but brain matter is a delicate thing, and a long, exhausting process for even an Overlord to endure. For the rest of the night, Valentino will be quiet, obedient… tamed. Brought to heel by the only person who would ever deserve him until his swiss cheese brain has finished stitching itself back together.
“Doesn’t it feel good, baby?” Vox asks, cupping Valentino’s cheek and rubbing the duller side of a claw softly across his skin.
Valentino nods slowly. “S’good,” he says, the word drawn out and hesitant, as if it takes a monumental effort just to give confirmation. “Quiet. Up here. For once. It’s good.”
“I know,” Vox croons, “poor thing. It’s just too hard for you to think sometimes, isn’t it? Too much going on in that pretty head. That’s why you need me to help you calm down every now and then.”
“Mhm,” Valentino says, nuzzling into Vox’s hand. “You always…take care of me.”
“I do,” Vox affirms, squeezing Valentino’s hip with his free hand. “Want me to take care of something else?”
Valentino giggles, high-pitched and uncontrolled in a way he would never allow himself to be in public. “Voxxy, that’s dirty.”
“Sure is, sweetheart. Is that a yes?”
“Yeah,” Valentino says, and lifts an arm, reaching out for Vox. He freezes mid-movement. His arm hovers in the air for a moment and Valentino stares at it, as if confused, before dropping it back down to his side. “We…what are we doing? Forgot.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Vox reassures, taking Valentino’s hand in his own and guiding it to his belt. He lets Valentino struggle with the buckle for a moment, amused, before taking mercy on the poor thing and helping him get it undone. “See? Isn’t everything so much easier when you let me help you?”
Valentino makes a quiet sound of affirmation before shoving his hand down Vox’s underwear without ceremony. Vox chokes as a warm, practiced hand wraps around his dick and begins stroking him. Even with his brain torn apart, Valentino never forgets how to pleasure someone. It’s so ingrained in him that Vox is pretty sure it wouldn’t be possible to erase it even if he tried.
“Fuck,” Vox hisses. “Fuck, that’s—okay, slow down for a second, let me…” He doesn’t bother finishing his sentence before dipping the hand that rests on Valentino’s hip below the lacy underwear, sliding his fingers down to where he’s already wet. Valentino whines when Vox presses a finger against his entrance, his head moving in short, jerky movements as his gaze shifts between where he’s touching Vox and where Vox is touching him.
“Voxxy,” Valentino breathes, “down there, it’s…ah!” He cries out when Vox pushes his finger inside his pussy properly, clenching around him.
His reactions when they do this are intoxicating to Vox. It’s almost like he’s a virgin, the way he’s so sensitive to every touch, as if he’s experiencing it all for the first time. Another one of those long, elegant arms reaches down to Valentino’s own cock, untouched so far. He begins to jerk himself off, quickly and not at all in pace with what Vox is doing.
That won’t do. Vox uses his free hand to grab Valentino’s wrist firmly, stopping his movements. “Stop that,” he orders.
“Why?” Valentino whines, petulant. His face twitches, like he’s trying to glare but can’t quite remember how to do so.
“If you’re patient, it gets even better,” Vox says. “I promise.”
“Promise?” Valentino echoes.
“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you,” Vox assures him, and stuffs another finger inside his cunt. The sound is obscene. Valentino moans and bucks into his hand, the grip of his own deceptively delicate fingers tightening around Vox’s dick.
Usually, Valentino never shuts up during sex. The man has decades of experience talking dirty, and he puts it to good use. He’s loud in every other way, too, and even though his moans sometimes sound too scripted to be real, Vox knows it’s just difficult for Valentino to ever fully let go of being a performer. But here, like this, he can’t put on a show. He can’t fake anything, can’t summon the memory of his best scripts and the tried and tested lines that he knows always get Vox going. All he can do is sit there and make little gasps and whines, real ones, as Vox fingers him.
The temptation is too hard to resist. Vox lets go of his partner’s wrist and reaches up to grasp his shoulder—then shocks him. Not strong enough to damage anything, since god knows Valentino’s regeneration is contending with plenty already, but enough that it elicits a yelp and a full-body shiver.
“Fuck,” Valentino says, breathless. “Vox…”
The louder and more eager Valentino gets, the less able to express himself verbally he seems. Not too surprising, considering he’s got maybe half a brain left to work with, and that’s being generous. By the time Vox has three fingers inside him, all he’s managing are moans and the occasional ‘please’ or a cry of Vox’s name.
As much as Vox loves when Valentino dresses up for him, his delicate panties are restricting Vox’s movements and obscuring the delicious view of his fingers pumping in and out of Valentino’s cunt. So, with the knowledge that Valentino isn’t anywhere near alert enough to complain about it, he uses the claws of his other hand to slice through the lace, tossing the ruined fabric away. He leans in and snaps a photo with his screen, unable to resist memorializing the way Valentino’s cunt stretches around his fingers, the way he’s so wet that it’s coating his inner thighs.
The hand wrapped around Vox’s dick has stopped moving, gone slack, as have Valentino’s other arms, which had previously been curling into the sheets and clutching desperately at Vox. For a moment Vox worries he’s going into a seizure, which has happened before on one unfortunate occasion, but after a moment Valentino seems to come back to himself, his grip tightening once again.
As good as it feels to have that large, warm hand jerking him off, Vox has no intention of coming first tonight. He pulls Valentino off of him with a great deal of reluctance. He slides his fingers out of his partner, then licks each of them clean, slowly and carefully, savoring the taste, never once taking his eyes off of Valentino. “Lay back,” he says, and then again, when he doesn’t receive a response, “Val. Lay down.”
Valentino blinks rapidly as if startled out of a dream. “…Hm?”
“Nevermind. Here.” Vox pushes firmly on Valentino’s shoulders, who goes easily as he’s pressed down against the mattress. There’s barely a reaction from his partner except for a small huff of surprise. Hm. Maybe the excitement and movement has caused another brain bleed. But as long as Valentino is still capable of communicating and moving, they’re good to go.
As Vox goes about getting rid of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can, Valentino wriggles his shoulders weakly, and after a moment Vox realizes he’s trying to get his wings out from under his back. “Here, sweetheart,” he says, helping Valentino sit up a bit so he can spread his wings across the bed properly. He takes a photo of this, too—there will never be a time that Vox won’t drop everything he’s doing to admire Valentino’s wings.
Once he’s undressed, Vox wastes no time in grabbing Valentino’s thighs and spreading them wide. It’s easier when Valentino is cognizant enough to wrap his legs around Vox’s hips, but it doesn’t matter much in the end. He lines himself up with Valentino’s dripping cunt, and when he pushes inside, the answering moan from Valentino is so raw and wanting that Vox nearly comes on the spot.
“Voxxy,” Valentino gasps, all four hands reaching up to grab at Vox, clinging to him like a lifeline. “Vox, you—that—” Something that’s probably meant to be a sentence follows, but between the gasps and moans, it comes out a garbled mess that Vox can’t hope to decipher. That’s alright. If Valentino is so overwhelmed he can’t even speak, it’s just a sign that Vox is doing a fantastic job.
Vox begins to move, antennae sparking when Valentino’s cunt clenches, the heat and pressure on his cock making his fans kick up a notch higher to keep him from overheating and shorting himself out. He grips onto Valentino harder and hikes his legs up, pushing them back so that Valentino is nearly bent in half.
“How does it feel, baby?” Vox groans as Valentino squeezes around his dick again. “Try to use your words.”
“Good,” Valentino gasps, “it’s good, full, I’m…full of you…”
Vox shudders, faltering in his thrusts. Valentino is just so damn honest when they do this, it’s almost as unnerving as it is hot. “You need this, don’t you?” He huffs as he picks up the pace. “You need me in your pussy. Need me to fill you up.” He digs his claws into those pretty thighs and shocks him again. “Say it.”
“Need it,” Valentino whines. “I need you.”
“Fuck, Val,” Vox says. He leans down more, forcing Valentino’s legs to bend back even further. “If you need it so bad, I’ll give it to you.”
Valentino can do nothing but hold on to Vox as he’s fucked hard, whining and whimpering, eyes glassy. He looks helpless, and it’s driving Vox close to the edge already. He really doesn’t want to come so soon, wants to at least keep going until he makes Valentino cry, but as he continues to thrust into his partner, he’s more and more convinced that will be an impossible task. He’s so close, everything is warm and wet and perfect, and he readjusts so that he can bend forward far enough to press his mouth to Valentino’s and slide his tongue into his mouth. Valentino moans, kissing him back, not as intensely as usual, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is getting him off before Vox himself.
Vox lets go of one of Valentino’s legs and reaches down to finally wrap his hand around Valentino’s neglected cock. The desperate, loud reaction it earns him makes him grind his teeth, all his willpower going towards lasting just a little longer.
“Vox,” Valentino gasps, his nails digging into the synthetic flesh of Vox’s back. “Vox, Vox, Voxxy!”
“That’s right,” Vox says, biting at Valentino’s bottom lip and licking up the pinpricks of blood that bloom from the punctures. “Don’t stop saying my name.” He pumps Valentino’s cock faster as he begins to thrust even harder.
Again and again, Valentino calls out for him, and Vox can tell how close he is once his name stops being intelligible through all the moans and whines.
“Go ahead, princess,” he says. “Cum for me.”
Valentino arches up as he orgasms, crying out, his legs trembling under Vox’s hands. His wings flap helplessly, his eyes glaze over. His nails dig hard enough into Vox’s back to draw blood as his cock spills across their stomachs, as his cunt clenches and he shakes apart. It’s too much, it’s been too much, and Vox’s self-control finally gives out. He groans as he presses his hips as close to Valentino’s as he can, determined to fill his partner up completely, just as he’s promised to do. He bites at Valentino’s shoulder as he cums, the sheer relief of finally not holding back anymore heightening every sensation.
Before he can even pull out, Valentino goes limp, eyes fluttering shut. Vox pulls up one of his eyelids to check, and yep, he’s completely passed out. Going by past experience, he likely won’t wake again until morning, once the worst of the brain damage has been healed. Vox presses a kiss to that slack mouth, affection blooming in his chest.
He can’t exactly get Valentino into the bath in this state, so after he’s managed to catch his breath and wipe himself down enough, he goes about taking care of his unconscious partner. He cleans Valentino of the cum and sweat, takes off the rest of his now-ruined lingerie and makes a mental note to buy a new pair first thing tomorrow. He makes sure Valentino’s wings are laid out properly underneath him so that they won’t be crumpled by the time he finally wakes up.
Afterwards, he turns the dimmed lights the rest of the way down and climbs into bed beside Valentino, pulling a fresh bedcover over the both of them. There’s still plenty of cleanup to do, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. For now, Vox is more than ready to sleep, knowing he’ll have his brazen partner back to normal in the morning. As fun as this always is, nothing compares to Valentino in all his terrible, perfect glory.
“Goodnight, baby,” Vox murmurs as he drifts towards unconsciousness, his system preparing to power down for the night. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The last thing Vox feels before sleep overtakes him is a great sense of self-satisfaction. Tonight’s procedure had been a flawless success indeed.