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Valentino’s favourite earth-type flowers were roses. Sure, it was more or less stereotypical, but even without the symbolism and the like how could he not? Being given a bouquet of roses made him happy. He didn’t care about the reason for it, what the other person expected, what he had to do. He had never gotten it in life, but now he would receive them all the time.
Vox knew to give him roses with the thorns uncut. Most of the petals were red, but some were of other colours. Colours Val hadn’t known roses to come in outside of pink. White, orange, yellow, peach, lavender… Two dozen long-stemmed roses, all for Valentino.
With others, it might be a single red rose. Maybe a dozen with white and pink. Always cut, always with the desire for Val’s prolonged attention that he may or may not deign to give them for any particular reason. When he was alive, the reason for attention was always sex or crime. Nothing interesting.
“What are these for?” Val asked, letting his fingertips graze over the thorns which peered over the black paper with red designs. Most of the roses were red, but some were blue and others white. Vox probably only got these colours because of being red and blue.
White might have been for weddings, but what Sinner would get married in Hell?
Anyone else would have asked for something. Sometimes, even Vox would. But today all Vox said was, “saw them and thought of you.”
It made Val want to give him everything, even if he didn’t know what that meant or how to do it. After all, feelings passed. They always did. What remained were things like ambition and loyalty—two things he had with Vox and that neither of them questioned.
Val’s good antenna moved forward to brush over the surface of the flowers. It wasn’t the same as taking a deep breath of something, despite having the same outcome. It filled his senses, made him happy, made him notice how Vox was pretending not to care as he loosened his tie and settled down on the couch beside him.
Keeping the flowers by his face, Val slid into Vox’s lap. Vox raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t actually expected to get something in return. Well, he was silly. Very silly. Vox expected things from him when Val had no intention to give him anything and expected nothing when Val wanted to give him things. The very definition of a stupid man (hilarious as the was the most intelligent man Val knew).
Val drew him into a kiss. Vox’s hand found itself on Val’s thigh, which was exactly where the both of them wanted it.
Yet, when they pulled back, Vox asked, “wanna watch a movie?”
Pretending to consider, Val nuzzled into Vox’s neck. “What kind of movie?”
“Cary Grant?”
“You know I’ll never say no to your first man crush.”
Vox scoffed as he turned on the TV. “He was not.”
“Oh? Who did you like before him?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You liiiike him~ You wanna maaaaarry him~” Vox rolled his eyes while Val laughed at him. “Just try not to pop a boner while we’re watching him!”
“That’ll be because you’re grinding your ass on my dick!”
They half watched the film and half made out. Vox was definitely hard through it and Val didn’t care for the real reason he was, because it didn’t matter. What mattered was the film on screen, Vox’s attention on him, and the bouquet he still had in his hands.
It was something Val didn’t have words for. There were words which would have applied if this were all fake, but it wasn’t, so Val couldn’t fathom what it actually was. Did it matter if he couldn’t label it? When was the last time Val actually cared about labels (outside selling types of porn)?
When Vox brought him flowers, it was because he’d thought of him.