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They have been going at it for hours, this obnoxious two-bit whore and Val. Vox believed Val when he said there was something about the whore that could make them money, he thought Val had a keener eye than him as he was an artist, experienced, and more of a shameless pervert. Val spent much of his time at sex clubs interacting with the general population–way too often for Vox’s taste–so it was reasonable to think that he knew what the people wanted. Vox has been having a harder time being “reasonable.”
Vox doesn’t know (or care) what makes a porn movie or a porn star successful, what he cares about is the final profit. What he cares about is the power. Val has handled the rest, always; Vox has watched Val lure sinners in with his smoke and his voice like velvet and his charm, build them up, work them to the bone, and Vox has reaped the benefits. That was the deal. That’s how things were supposed to be.
Even when Val first showed up at Vox’s office with a hand around Angel Dust’s hip and a cigarette in his lips, beaming like the fucking sun, and Vox recognized the whore as a dancer he’d known decades before, he bit his tongue. Later, Val assured him that it was a business move. And a great one at that. Val said he was “playing the long game.”
No movie has been made, because Val hasn’t let anyone but himself touch the whore. No money has come their way, because Vox doesn’t want to see the cheaply made, revoltingly intimate clips starring the two of them being sold across the city. It would be bad for their image, is what he says every time Valentino gives him a smug smirk with a tap on his cigarette and blames him for not making any money.
“You know people would love to see me in another movie, papi,” Val keeps saying, and every time, Vox’s reply remains the same:
“No.”
Valentino has been regularly fucking Angel Dust, wining and dining him, letting him spend every free moment at the studio perched on his lap like a cheap, tacky accessory to “get familiar with the place” though he hasn’t done a single thing besides bounce on Val’s cock. Val’s even given the whore a goddamn dressing room of his own. Six months of this bullshit and counting. And as far as Vox is aware, a contract hasn’t even been mentioned.
“Harder, Val, harder please,” Vox hears the whore moan while he clutches Val’s back and waist and gets mercilessly fucked into Val’s bed.
The whore’s legs are spread wide open and Val fits perfectly between them, Val’s wings are draped elegantly down his back, his antennae are twitching, and Vox despises every goddamn second of this display. He sits in front of the monitors with his legs crossed and a finger rubbing the part of his screen where his upper lip would be, a habit he retained post-mortem. Worst of all, he’s been hard for fucking ages.
He’s seen the whore choke and gag on Val’s cock, he’s heard Val’s encouraging moans in goddamn high-fidelity through the speakers on each side of his desk, he’s seen Val bounce the whore on his lap and fuck it on all fours until it collapsed with a disgustingly loud, nasal cry, and now this. He saw the pair wrap all arms and legs around each other once they were finished the last time. The whore touched Val’s face and smiled at him, and Val didn’t even have the fucking decency to roll over and fall asleep. No. He returned the fucking smiles. He returned the warm looks through narrowed eyes. He laced his fingers through the whore’s much smaller ones and cradled his face and guided its bony hips to grind on his thigh, and now he’s inside the whore again.
“Me encantas, Angelito,” Vox hears Val growl and sees all four of his hands on the whore. “Cum again for me, baby.” And the whore does, like a toy. Or a well trained bitch.
Vox has to give it to Val, it puts up a good show. The screams that come out of its throat, the cries and moans–they’re high-pitched and grating like the voice, can’t help that, but there’s something about them and the way the whore’s face gets twisted up in pleasure so easily mistaken for pain that Vox can find the appeal in.
His problem is that Val is finding much more than that.
Vox ignores his office’s intercom, he doesn’t even bother yelling at whoever the idiot is who buzzed more than twice. They should already know how much he despises to be bothered, and he should get up and teach them a fucking lesson, but his eyes are glued to the screens and he continues to rub his finger back and forth, ignoring the scratch of his claw on the glass. He grips the edge of his chair’s arm until his palm hurts. His cock is throbbing, rock-hard and deliberately ignored.
“Fuck, Angie, you’re perfect,” Val kisses the whore’s neck and his wings unfurl behind him, fully. They’re gorgeous. Vox remembers the first time he saw Val expand them, how speechless he was. Love at first sight was a stupid concept at best, but Vox knew that he was seeing something–someone–special.
Now, Valentino looks straight into the fucking camera that’s above the headboard and smirks, as if he could feel the exact second that Vox’s stomach twists on itself. He licks his lips and drapes his wings over himself and the whore like a cocoon. As a reflex, Vox lets out a growl that rips through his vocal cords like a chainsaw and shoves everything off his desk with a single swing of his arm. Papers, phones, glasses, pens, a bottle of wine, an ashtray, two keyboards, everything falls and shatters on the polished tiles with a thunderous cacophony rising above the white noise of his glitching screen. There’s a series of frantic knocks at the door and Vox forces his voice to blast through the speakers, so loudly that the desk vibrates. The lights of his office flicker, likely the rest of the building’s, too.
As he stomps out, he hears the muffled moans of the whore chanting Val’s name like a prayer and Vox grabs the first worker he finds by the neck of his shirt and screams in his face to get his office cleared, then throws him a few feet away.
+++
By the time Vox gets to his own floor, he’s calmed down enough. His screen isn't overheating and his neck doesn't feel like it's about to snap, and when he sits on the leather sofa next to the bed, even his erection has subsided. He loosens his tie, rolls up his sleeves, and picks up a book, determined to take his mind off of the disgusting scene on his monitors. It's almost as if nothing had happened.
But then, not even an hour later, Valentino swings the door open with a playful knock and an infuriatingly sweet smile on his face.
“Hey, papi,” Valentino purrs, and he's wearing a mostly see-through robe obscenely open at the chest and nothing else, he smells like soap and steam and though Vox appreciates the fact that Val at least washed off the stench of whore, he wants nothing to do with him right now.
“I'm not in the mood, Val,” Vox replies, dry and cutting and forcing himself to look away from Val's figure within the doorframe.
But Valentino doesn't take “no” for an answer. He never does. Vox has witnessed it himself, countless times in person and on camera, Val's insistence moving subtly towards aggression, climaxing in violence, and all the while Vox has had his cock in his hand and his mouth has been metaphorically watering at the sight.
“In the mood for what, Voxxy? I haven't done anything,” Val puts on a fake pout and closes the door, locks it, moves towards Vox like a stormy cloud.
“Wasn’t fucking that whore enough?” Vox snaps, angry at himself for letting his cards show so quickly. He just can't help it. Val forcibly pulls everything out of him, his lust, his rage, his love.
Val's laugh is enraging, low and raspy and brief, two seconds of humiliation that bring heat back to Vox's face. Val gets on his knees when he's a few steps away from the couch and crawls towards Vox with the tip of his tongue hanging out of his lips and saliva dripping down the corners of his mouth. Vox has never gotten to experience the feeling of arousal and euphoria that Val's pheromones seem to cause other sinners. He has seen countless people with their pupils blown and their chests heaving, grinding desperately against Val, almost harming him to get more of his taste, lost in ecstasy and irrational desire. Even that he's denied.
“Ay, papito, don't tell me you're jealous of Angel,” Val places his hands on Vox's ankles and squeezes, then drags them up his calves, to his knees, spreading them. He smiles wide and his antennae twitch, and Vox feels heat pooling in his chest already.
“Why the fuck would I be jealous of some whore?” Vox spits it out with too much bite. He’s too exposed. He despises it. “I just don’t want your sloppy seconds.”
Val’s smile widens and he shamelessly pulls both of Vox’s cocks out of his pants.
“But I was thinking about you the whole time, papi,” Val purrs, in that saccharine tone that sends shivers down Vox’s spine. Val pumps the smaller cock on top with his fist after spitting on it, and Vox is already panting, growing hard and spreading his legs for Val like any other common slut at any club in the city.
“You’re so full of shit,” Vox’s voice shakes, it comes out breathy, and before Val can even think of replying with something to twist the knife, Vox pushes his head down.
As if on cue, Val hungrily swallows the bigger cock until the head hits the back of his throat and Vox sees stars. Vox can feel every stroke of Val’s fingers and every squeeze of his tongue wrapped around the shaft. No sinner has ever made Vox feel the things Valentino does when he’s using that tongue of his to pleasure him, and to think that mere hours before he was sticking it down that tawdry stripper’s throat is–
With a loud growl, Vox grabs Val’s antenna and thrusts forward, and he ignores Val’s choking sounds and starts to fuck his mouth as if that were the magical ritual to get that fucking spider out of his mind for good. He’s barely aware that he’s mumbling as he does, “Open,” and “Take it.” Vox has never managed to have both of his cocks properly tended to with any sinner, but Valentino is different. Even now, Vox can feel a swell of warmth blooming in his chest, a ridiculous whisper in the back of his mind that says that Val was made for him. This hellish form of his was made for Vox, it had to be. One of his cocks is fully sliding inside Val’s mouth while his tongue is wrapped around the bigger one like it was the most natural thing in the world and not a testament to their monstrous pleasure. Vox feels his temperature rising and his vents whirring with the effort of his ragged breaths; he feels that swell in his chest grow along with that other angry rot setting in the pit of his stomach.
Val’s eyes well up with tears but his jaw falls slack, wide open, obedient as if by muscle memory. And he takes it well. His tongue loosens the grip it has on Vox’s cock and though he gags and digs his claws into Vox’s thighs, he makes not a single attempt to stop it or move away from the thrusts. There’s a dozen things spiraling in Vox’s mind. They’re petty and resentful and when they get louder they turn violent, and so he pulls out and watches Val’s tongue lull lifeless out of his mouth, and for a brief moment he looks vulnerable. For a second, Val’s eyes are wide and tearful, deep and red and beautiful, but the spell never lasts long enough to satisfy Vox.
The smirk tugs at Val’s lips and in the blink of an eye he looks smug and detached again. He grabs the bases of Vox’s cocks and swirls his tongue around the heads with that defiant quirk of his lips. Val never stays put. He never lets the mask slip off for good. He never really gives up control.
Vox doesn’t think that he asks for much.
When he grabs Val by the fluff of his neck and pulls him up, his face twists into a painful expression as he yelps, but immediately gets back to the way it was before: satisfied, gleeful, shamelessly aroused with blood-like saliva dripping down his lips. This expression doesn’t change when Vox throws him face-down onto the bed with a bit too much force. Val falls into character effortlessly, and Vox thinks with a hint of bitterness that half of that muscle memory was ingrained into Val’s body long before the first time he touched him. Val arches his back and lifts his ass, and lets out a fake gasp and a chuckle when Vox pulls up the robe and roughly pushes him back by the hips.
“Oh, you’re really mad, aren’t you?” Val looks over his shoulder with pure hunger in his eyes, expectant, pressing his chest to the mattress and even spreading his wings off to the sides to give Vox a better view. “Will you spank me, daddy?”
Vox does, harder than Val expected judging by the way he cries out, but not enough to change much else. It never is. Vox spanks him again as he pumps both of his cocks with another hand; he gropes Val’s ass cheek hard enough to break the skin with his claws and for Val to start wriggling in anticipation. Vox can see Val’s inner thighs glistening with lube and though the image of Val fucking himself in the shower in preparation to come see him is flattering, enticing, mildly satisfying, he doesn’t spend much time on it. He keeps Val still with a bruising grip on his hip and pushes into him with both dicks at the same time, selfish with the knowledge that denying Val means denying himself, that no matter what he does or how he does it, Valentino finds a way to come out on top. Even when he doesn’t mean to.
Val’s moan is loud and raspy with the pain of the stretch. He looks over his shoulder again with a frown and his lips hanging open to flash his golden fang.
“Vox, what the fuck, a little fucking warning–”
“Shut up,” Vox answers like a reflex, pulling back and fucking deeper into Val as he pushes his head into the sheets to stifle his bitching. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he mumbles like a self-soothing mantra as he picks up the pace, keeping Val’s head down and his ass still, already losing himself in that perfect mixture of heat and resistance squeezing both of his cocks.
Val’s moans and grunts are muffled against the bed and they sound like music to Vox’s ears. They get louder with every thrust and Val wriggles and twists to force his body to take it better: he moves a leg forward, arches his back some more, spreads his thighs further. The struggle is clear and tangible by the way his muscles clench and the sound of whimpers and Val’s fist slamming into the bed, but it’s not enough.
Vox grabs the base of his wings and gives them a harsh pull, and even though Vox likes the sight of them fluttering when Val gets overwhelmed with pleasure, at this very moment he can only think of the way they formed a cocoon around Val and the whore, protecting them from his view. He thinks of the self-satisfied smile on Val’s face as he looked into the camera, the quiet, blatant fondness on it when he looked at the whore. It makes Vox see red, his voice glitching, and he quickens his pace to something brutal, like he wanted to fuck the thought of Angel Dust right out of Val. He twists Val’s antenna around his fist and pulls his head back to hear him hiss and groan, and reaches around his neck to dig his claws into the base of his throat.
The worst part of it all is that Val is now loving it.
“Sí, sí, sí, así, hijo de puta, dame más duro, más duro,” he moans with cracks and rasps in his voice, he grabs Vox’s wrist to make him squeeze his neck. He rocks his ass back as much as he can to meet Vox’s furious thrusts halfway, and when Vox makes him turn sideways to face him, his eyes are bright with tears and his tongue is sticking out of his mouth, dripping saliva like a panting dog.
“Fuck you, Val, you piece of shit.”
Vox’s anger spikes at the look of unhinged pleasure on Val’s face. Because he knows for a fact that Val’s given this look to the whore, that Val has looked up at him with that same gaze and the same lull of his tongue after eating him out, fucking him, or shoving his cock inside his mouth and watching him swallow every drop.
That look should be his. Val should be his. That was an implied part of the fucking deal. Val chases everything he can get his hands on and fucks it, he fucks these people in Vox’s own goddamn tower, he gets bent over the desk at the meeting room, he gets his cock sucked at bars Vox owns under his cameras, he uses Vox’s money to get himself outfits that sinners tear and rip off of him like they were cheap rags, and all the while Val smiles about it, he drapes his arms around Vox’s neck and purrs into his ear and rides him until Vox feels like he can’t breathe. The next night Vox has to see Val doing the same thing again. And again. And again..
“Look at me, Val,” Vox flips Val onto his back and pins his legs down, pulls the wires out from behind his head and wraps them around Val’s wrists, crushing them above his head to keep him still on the bed.
“Dime, papito,” Val moans, happy to lift his ass to let Vox move deeper inside him, hot pink saliva smeared all across his lips and staining his fur. His eyes are narrowed and still wet with tears. There’s blood staining some tufts of fur at the base of his neck where Vox’s claws dug too deep. He’s smiling.
He looks beautiful. Vox wants to destroy him.
“You’re mine, Val,” Vox steadies his voice though it comes out deep and distorted. He angles Val’s hips to thrust into the spot that makes Val shudder and his wings tremble, but this isn’t what he wants.
Even Val moaning, “I am,” in bliss and arching into his touch as he drags a hand up his torso isn’t what he wants. Val nodding and saying, “Yes, Voxxy, all yours, papi,” to appease him isn’t what he wants. Val moaning when Vox wraps both hands around his throat and digs his thumbs into his Adam’s apple isn’t what he needs. He doesn’t need the pleasure of Val’s muscles clenching around his cocks nor the precum leaking onto Val’s stomach.
Why would he be satisfied with any of this when Valentino is more than happy to give it away to the next fucker who looks his way?
“No, you don’t get it,” Vox mutters and fucks harder and faster into Val, bordering on frantic. He squeezes Val’s neck until his claws break the skin, and his hips stutter when he sees Val’s eyes widen with a surge of fear instead of lust.
“Vox–” Val croaks out, his lower claws quickly wrapping around Vox’s wrists. He lets it happen.
He doesn’t stop. He pushes down on Val’s windpipe and watches Val struggle with the wires squeezing his upper wrists in place, sputtering uselessly to try to get a word out. Vox imagines Val wants to say “Stop,” or that he wants to curse him out. Val would call him insane, because it wouldn’t be the first time that he gets carried away, except this time there wouldn’t be a trace of affection in the way Val would purr these words, not with the panic setting in.
Panting, Vox squeezes Val’s neck as hard as he can, until his fingers feel like they might snap. Val thrashes his legs and manages to kick Vox on the side, he scratches Vox’s wrists deep enough to draw blood and Vox allows this only because he likes the thought of Val leaving marks on him, too. But he uses the wires to pin all six of Val’s limbs down.
“You lying, cheating whore,” Vox says again, grunting as he keeps fucking into Val’s body, now tense and taut like an arrow aimed at his face. “Why don’t you get it? You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.” He punctuates every sentence with a thrust and more pressure on Val’s neck.
Vox can feel Val’s blood pumping through his veins under his grip, he pushes down until he feels the flow slow and stop under the pressure of his hands, and Val squeezes his cock as a reflex. He keeps wriggling, his wings flutter uselessly under the weight of both of them, and his face is turning a darker shade of purple. Vox squeezes Val’s neck like he wanted his palms to touch through it, feeling his cock throb when he hears the snap of cartilage and tissue inside Val’s throat. Val opens his mouth and his hot pink saliva looks darker, mixed with blood that also drips down his nostrils. He tries to speak but only manages to let out a horrid, wet breath that he chokes on. His thrashing is weaker, his eyes widen and fill with even more tears, like a dam about to burst.
Vox thinks that he looks perfect. Helpless under his hands, suffocating, unable to think or feel or see anything other than Vox.
“I love you like this,” Vox whispers as Val’s body starts to convulse. His hands fall limp under the tightened wires and though he’s still gurgling, the sound is so low and soft that even the whirr of Vox’s vents is more noticeable. “Why can’t you just be like this?”
Vox stops moving his hips to squeeze the last breaths out of Val. It’s exhausting. Even with the help of a wire his hands still ache, but the second Val’s head falls limp, backwards, onto the bed, Vox feels a new wave of arousal revitalizing him. All of Val’s limbs relax, and Vox pulls back the wires that he’d been using to pin him like a taxidermy project. Val doesn’t struggle anymore. He doesn’t growl, he doesn’t bitch, he doesn’t challenge Vox or threaten him with leaving.
Vox releases his grip on Val’s neck and cups his chin instead, runs his fingers through the soft fur around his neck and pulls it. Val’s eyes are glassy and fixed on nothing above the bed and his body jerks limply with every thrust. Vox leans into him to taste the saliva on his lips, sickly sweet and spiced, and for once he’s not jealous of every sinner who gets to feel the high from it. It belongs entirely to him now, Val is all his, finally, and Vox can touch every part of him with worshipping hands, and fuck into him to brand him as his property to his heart’s content. He can run his claws all along Val’s wings, which he usually doesn’t allow as he says they’re “too sensitive,” and he can leave dark scratches down the length of his torso. He could carve his name into Val’s flesh if he wanted–the thought makes him growl and pick up the pace, spread Val’s legs and angle them into whatever position brings him more pleasure.
“You’re perfect like this,” Vox whispers, lost in the bliss of riding right on the edge of his orgasm. “Fuck, Val, I love you. I love you–”
Vox pushes Val’s ribcage down into the bed and breaks open the skin at those spots where he grabs him. Val’s neck is still bent backwards at an unnatural angle and his hands lie spread beside his head and on his wings. The first wave of his climax hits Vox with the force of a nuclear explosion, his hips stutter and still and he pulls Val’s legs up and to each side of his hip to open him as he begins to spill inside of him.
With every twitch and throb of his cocks Vox feels his rage subside and complete peace of mind wash over him. It makes his orgasm even sweeter, so he drags it out for as long as he can, milking himself dry with shallow thrusts into Val’s lifeless body, clutching at the fur around his crushed neck and squeezing the lower half of his face. His heart is pounding and the room fills up with the buzzing of his vents and his screen glowing warm over Val. He doesn’t pull out. Instead, he drapes himself over Val and presses his head to his chest, only vaguely missing the steady breaths or the heartbeat he’d grown used to.
It’s better this way. Val can’t crawl away into someone else’s arms. At least not for a while.
+++
The most logical course of action is to keep Val’s body in his bedroom until he regains consciousness. Vox had never taken things quite this far with Val, but he’d certainly seem him shoot their employees with Moneyshot until they looked like minced meat, Vox had fried a few of his own assistants beyond recognition himself, and he imagined that something as mild as strangulation would only take two or three days to heal.
He’s sadly created a situation he’ll have to handle, this being Val’s whores being left with no supervision. Vox doesn’t know the first goddamn thing about running a porn studio. He doesn’t care. But he did dig this hole himself.
And he has to admit that picturing the look on the whore’s face when he shows up instead of Val makes him feel giddy with triumph.
The whore is waiting in his dressing room, as Vox knew he would, because he’s been doing this for weeks at this point, powdering his nose and practicing his sultry looks in front of the mirror. Val shows up an hour before the rest of the crew to bend the whore over the vanity or throw him face-down on the couch to have their “private” time before continuing to pretend like they’re in the process of making a deal. The thought makes Vox’s anger spike for a second, a spark that he can quickly snuff out and replace with something giddy in the pit of his stomach as he approaches the door.
Just as he expected, the whore is in front of the vanity, with his back arched and little ass lifted in the air as a very clear invitation. Vox closes the door behind himself quietly, enjoying the view in person now that he has removed Val from the equation, at least temporarily. Another thing that’s infuriating about Val is that he does have good taste in whores.
“Hey, daddy, I thought you stood me up,” the whore says as he turns around with the most shameless ‘fuck me’ eyes Vox has seen in decades. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were–”
“I’m not.” Vox cuts him off and keeps his hands behind his back, and if he loses his train of thought for a second because of the swell of the whore’s chest staring him in the face, that’s only for him to know. “Val isn’t coming today so you can leave.” Vox can’t help but feel triumphant, especially at the way Angel Dust’s eyes widen and then drop under his frown. Val’s name feels like honey on his tongue.
“No, he said he had something important to show me,” the whore insists, looking so disappointed it borders on heartbroken.
Vox has to hum to try to hide his delight.
“Something came up.” Vox explains, stepping closer to the whore, until he’s practically cornered him against the edge of the vanity. Without Val around, Angel Dust doesn’t seem anywhere near as confident. He seems small, and unsure, and like he’s not worth the dirt under his tacky boots.
“But he said–”
“Hm. Val didn’t even mention it,” Vox lowers his voice and his smile stretches so wide it feels like it will crack through the edges of his screen. “I guess you just weren’t as important,” Vox’s voice drops to a purr, he steps so close into Angel’s personal bubble that he can feel the heat radiating off of him and it makes his cock throb in his pants.
Angel looks as if Vox had slapped him across the face or spat at his feet, so of course he’s getting hard.
“Guess so,” Angel says with that tiny, breathy, nails-on-a-chalkboard voice and visibly swallows when Vox places a hand on his shoulder.
And Vox squeezes the bony angle of it, digs the pad of his thumb into the meager, soft flesh, and he hums. He’s on top of the world.
“He’ll be gone for a few days but don’t worry. I’ll tell him you were here.” Vox loves the daggers Angel is glaring at him. They’re sharp and shameless. Angel doesn’t try to pretend like he doesn’t despise him, not even for a second, and it makes Vox revel even more in his victory.
“Thanks.” Angel spits the word out like a curse, and though he tries to shrink away from Vox’s touch, he doesn’t make another move. He’s trapped and he knows it.
“You can cover up and leave now,” Vox drags his hand down Angel’s chest and cups the bottom of the fluff, pushes it up, feeling Angel’s ribs underneath as he takes a sharp breath and freezes on the spot.
Vox grins. He waits until the color has risen to Angel’s face to remove his hand, brushing his knuckles against the heavy curve, and places it behind his back again, with his million dollar smile still displayed on his screen. He takes half a step back just to force Angel to squirm away from him and scuttle out of the dressing room like a rat, and though Vox can tell that Angel immediately pulls out his phone and starts pressing the buttons, he knows it’s completely meaningless.
The air in the dressing room feels clearer without Angel’s overpowering perfume lingering in the air, and Vox even takes a minute to look at all the trinkets and ugly posters in the flesh, instead of just his screens. It’s cheap, and cluttered, and Vox doesn’t worry too much about it anymore. He’s convinced that a hard reset is exactly what Val needed, anyway.
When he returns to his bedroom, Val is still lying on his bed. Perfectly quiet, perfectly still, cold and beautiful and his for a little bit longer. Some of the color has returned to his face. Just this morning Vox could see the limp mess of his neck regain some strength. But he still has some time, especially when he hears Val’s phone start to ring incessantly on the desk where Vox placed it. Vox walks up to touch his antenna, still thinking about the look on Angel’s face, and he begins to unbutton his pants.