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Overlords made for terrible partygoers. Velvette was unsurprised by this, although the knowledge still frustratingly never failed to stave off her disappointment at social events. Overlords were not individuals prone to trust. If anything, a certain shrewd wariness for literally everyone they came across seemed a prerequisite for their profession. This was Hell after all, the final resting place for all things duplicitous and grim. They were predators, all of them; starving, rabid wolves desperate to claw their ways up to the top of the food chain and remain there by any means necessary.
Now, gather a group of seasoned predators—shrewd and hypervigilant to the very last—into a compact, overstimulating environment—say, a busy nightclub on Sinsmas Eve, for example—throw in enough drugs and alcohol to make people stupid and daring, and you had just made a pretty fine recipe for disaster. It made for a poor atmosphere, when half the attendees were paranoid about their soul being sold off to the next highest bidder, and the other half were trying to do just that.
That said, Velvette could concede these parties weren’t a complete waste of time, even if they did grate on her nerves like nails on a chalk board. Any overlord worth their weight in souls could tell you that half the game of survival in Hell was the ability to appear untouchable, regardless of whatever vulnerabilities you kept tucked within your chest. The moment you showed even a flicker of exploitable weakness, you were as good as minced meat. If a Sinner couldn’t even prove they could survive in a social setting, who would believe that they could survive a fight with the most powerful and ruthless players in Hell?
Hence the celebration; a show of unity, a sign of cohesion as much as it was a sign of strength. A shiver of sharks circling around each other for all of Hell to see, just waiting for that first drop of blood to spill and muddy the water. As overlords and hardy Sinners tossed back their glasses and snorted their lines, as music shook the walls and blinding lights flashed manically across the dancefloor, the message was clear. I’m here because I can hold my own. Can you?
The Vees, as Hell’s ruling media overlords, knew the value of preserving an image better than anyone, and all three were in attendance. Velvette sat perched at the bar, nursing a drink she couldn’t remember the name of as harsh, discordant bass thrummed through the air with enough intensity to make her joints rattle. She appreciated a good rager as much as anybody, but this one had long since dragged into the early hours of the morning, and the incessant lights and side-eye glances from pesky Sinners thinking of trying their luck had been steadily eroding at her nerves for just a bit too long.
Velvette could slip on the guise of perfection with the practised ease of a born performer; designer clothes, enigmatic conversation, teeth bared in a wide, practised smile that could spin even the most cutting remarks into playful banter. No other overlord could compare to her in this way, purposefully conducting the centre of attention whilst skilfully remaining entirely unknowable. Her appearance was more than just a shield from speculation, it was her weapon, the method by which she not only invited public opinion but controlled it. But just like any weapon, it weighed on her, and Velvette had noticed with a not so subtle foreboding that she was not the only one feeling that heaviness tonight.
Raising a glass to her lips, she cut her eyes to Vox who was slouching over the bar beside her, pounding back another drink as he slumped into his stool. The idiot had been pouring back whiskey like it was water for the past hour or so and dammit, he was a lousy drunk. Pry him open with enough booze and all that suave, businessman charisma melted away in favour of an uncoordinated, mopey mess of man with too many sorrows to drown and not enough sense to hide them.
Somewhere within the crowd Zeezi let out a holler as the music swelled, ceiling rattling with the strength of her footfalls, and for the briefest moment the music systems cut out. Too quick for anybody not paying attention to notice, but Velvette was as clued into the grid as any self-respecting tech overlord ought to be, and she heard it just as Vox did. That briefest rush of static as the speaker readjusted.
A twisting, unpleasant feeling settled in her gut as Vox’s head whipped around with enough force to nearly topple him from his chair, unfocused eyes flitting across the crowd with a frantic desperation, looking so lost and hopeless that Velvette didn’t even have the heart to tease him about it. He clung to the bar top, gouging holes through the wood as she regarded him coolly over the rim of her glass.
Velvette knew that look. She’d seen it countless times throughout the past five years, that depressingly hopeful search for someone who was no longer there. That was the look of man who had allowed someone too close and had paid the price for it, one way or another. That is what happened when you let your guard down, when you mistook a friendly face for a blameless one. That is what happened when you trusted the wrong person, when you spilled your blood for a vampire and expected them not to bite.
Vox collapsed back against the bar top, sighing somewhere between relief and heartbreak when he didn’t find who he was looking for, and Velvette decided she had finally had enough. She gulped down the last of her drink, choked slightly on the small, violet petals that had been floating in the liquid, and stood. Vox may have been a sorry sod, but not so much that she could justify leaving him at the mercy of the wolves. Stupid hangups aside, he was still her friend, for better or worse, and in Hell friends were something worth keeping.
Velvette tapped him on the shoulder, raising a perfect brow when he glanced up at her with big, hazy eyes and a stupid, puppy dog frown. “Vox mate, I think you’ve had enough,” she yelled, leaning close enough to be heard over the cacophony of music humming through the air.
“Whuzzat?” he slurred. Velvette could taste the alcoholic sting of his breath in the space between them, sharp enough to make her eyes water.
She could feel the watchful gazes staring daggers at her back, opportunistic bastards with enough sense to realise that one of the biggest sharks in the ocean had temporarily taken himself out of the game. Drunk, defenceless, weak. They had to get out of there and quickly, before anyone got stupid enough to actually try and go in for the kill. Velvette wasn’t in the mood for a fight, least of all for the sake of preserving Vox’s honour. Granted, she also wasn’t in the mood to drag Vox’s drunken ass all the way back to Vee Tower, at least not alone.
She tucked a hand beneath his arm, hauling him up and against her side, laughing with carefree ease and a wide grin that practically screamed, nothing to see here! Vox stumbled as he was wrestled to his feet and Velvette pressed further into him, arms wrapped in an iron grip around his waist in a facsimile of a friendly embrace. This little performance was about more than just dissuading trouble, it was about preserving their image as a united front, and Velvette would be double-damned if Vox ruined their public reputations because some prick had tried to chat him up with a Sazerac earlier in the night, only to send him spiralling into a mess of alcohol-induced transatlantic pining.
“Come on babes. It’s time to ditch this shithole.” She dragged him around the edges of the dancefloor, camouflaging them against the swell of the crowd. “Where the fuck is Val? I am not carrying you back to the tower in these heels.”
Vox pointed towards a shadowy corner of the room and Velvette could feel her already tense nerves beginning to fray. Valentino was lounging across a booth in a segment of the floor tucked away from the dancers and barflies, arms lazily bracketing two Sinners each side of him, with a third practically draped across his lap.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Velvette hefted Vox up from where he had begun to slip from her shoulder and began dragging him over.
Any other night she would have quite happily veered as far away from Valentino’s business as possible. She could stomach a lot but that didn’t mean she had to wilfully subject herself to it. However, with the culmination of holiday stresses bearing down on her, not at all alleviated by the prospect of the rest of her night being spent taking care of the giant baby hanging limply off her shoulders, Velvette concluded that the sight of whatever horrors Valentino might possibly be enjoying could in no way compare to the sheer magnitude of destruction she was willing to let loose if she saw Vox subjected to even just one more vulture at the feast, foolishly trying to pick him apart.
Valentino noticed them before she had a chance to call out, smile quickly giving way to a confused frown as he took in the static fizzling in and out of Vox’s screen. Luckily, he seemed to be in one of his more sensible moods and before Velvette had even had the chance to shoot him a warning glare, he was whispering in the ear of the man in his lap, setting him off laughing. The guy was up and dragging the two other Sinners away with him to who knows where by the time Velvette reached the booth.
She didn’t wait for an explanation for whatever that was about. Instead, she simply tossed Vox off her arm and onto Valentino, watching in wry amusement as the (un)living manifestation of debauchery and sleaze had to scramble up from his reclined position to avoid headbutting the groaning, 7ft heap of alcohol poisoning faceplanting in his lap.
“Val! Your flat-faced prince is pissed and I ain’t dragging the lanky prick back to the tower without attracting unwanted attention.” She tapped her foot impatiently against the floor as Valentino gaped down at the man in his arms. “I need you to get him home, preferably before he ends up arse over tits on the dance floor.”
Valentino blinked up at her, wrestling somewhat with Vox who was now valiantly attempting to get back on his feet and failing miserably. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked.
Velvette heaved a frustrated sigh. “I already said, the man’s plastered, and he’s gonna wind up four to the floor, prime pickings for these pissheads, if we don’t get him out of here now.”
Another blank look followed and Velvette felt suddenly closer to genuine rage than she had the entire night. “You’re not going to believe this, but I- “
“He’s drunk, you silly twat,” she hissed, punctuating her statement by jabbing the back of Vox’s screen and sending him toppling forward into the booth. “Get him out of here before he makes an even bigger idiot of himself.”
As though to punctuate her statement Vox began squirming like a fish out of water, batting at the hands Valentino had wrapped around his waist to keep him steady. Getting him seated properly was a challenge in itself, let alone getting him standing again as he struggled against the tug on his arms.
“Come on idiot,” Velvette huffed, moving to angle her body so that the frankly pathetic display would be hidden from anyone who happened to pass by. “Don’t you want to go with Val?”
For a moment Vox’s screen seemed to brighten, the haze around his eyes clearing just long enough to give Velvette hope that he was finally pulling himself together. She really should have known better.
“Al?” Vox mumbled quietly, before his eyes slipped shut and he flopped backwards into Valentino’s waiting arms, having apparently spent the last of his lucidity on that bombshell.
Velvette warily cast her eyes to Valentino as he crouched over Vox, seemingly frozen in shock or betrayal or both. “Val?” she murmured, attempting to decipher the inscrutable look on his face. “Are you-?”
“Hijo de puta, this shit again?” he exclaimed, wings flaring behind him, voice cutting through the music loud enough to draw a few heedful glances from nearby drinkers. And okay, fair enough. This was hardly the first time Vox had pulled shit like this, and Velvette couldn’t exactly say she was invested in his one-sided obsession with the Radio Demon in quite the same way Valentino was.
There was a look on his face; a desperate, lost sort of thing, a spotlight searching for something that wasn’t there, and maybe never had been. Velvette knew that look. This was why she didn’t get involved with romance.
She watched as Valentino seemingly tried to compose himself, grumbling into his hands, words drowned out by the party still happening behind them. Finally, he appeared to pull himself together, salacious grin spilling across his face, putrid and slick as oil, as he stood and hauled Vox to his feet, tugging the limp body close to his chest, hands caressing down his back.
“You always know just what to say, don’t you, amorcito?” he growled, planting a kiss to Vox’s mouth with enough ferocity to garner a wide-eyed, cyan blush in return. “But no matter. You’re coming home with me and when we get there, I’m gonna fuck that strawberry bitch right out of that adorable, boxy head of yours.”
Velvette felt something odd rising in her chest at the sight of them, at Valentino of all people, refusing to let go of man who, in turn, refused to let go of his ex-partner. Friend? Lover? Whatever he was, it couldn’t possibly matter enough to put up with all this.
She cared for them both, in a way. In that same, unlikely way they had all learned to care for each other. But what Vox and Valentino had was something so entirely other from what she knew that it never failed to throw her for a loop, to make her cringe away in disgust, and for some awful, indescribable reason, to make her want.
She turned away with an affected look of disgust, swallowing down the acid building in the back of her throat. “Ew, gross,” she cringed, arms crossed against her chest. “Get that shit away from me.”
“Don’t act like you’re not jealous,” Valentino sneered, pulling away from Vox to grin down at her as she fixed him with a glare fiery enough to melt ice. “Fine! Fine!” he surrendered, tugging Vox against his side and wrapping hands around his shoulders and waist as the other man toppled into him. “Let’s go home. This party was lame anyway.”
Velvette released a deep sigh of relief at the thought of their tower. Her bed. The place where after a long night of performance and scandal she could collapse in her den of unrefined comfort, feeling safe in the knowledge that there was nobody but her to witness it. Unfortunately, Valentino had other plans.
“By the way babydoll, before we head out I need you to grab my coat, since I’m a little preoccupied.” He nudged Vox with his hip in a playful manoeuvre that almost sent them both tumbling to the ground.
Velvette took in the sight of the empty booth behind them with a sinking feeling as whatever visions she had held of retiring for the night were shattered into pieces. “Where is it?” Velvette asked, running a hand down her face.
“How should I know?” Valentino replied, and Velvette thought she might have strangled him if she didn’t suddenly feel so damn tired. “I handed it to this sexy little imp when we arrived and then I got...distracted.” His hooded gaze travelled across the dancefloor and Velvette followed it cautiously, only to find the Sinners from earlier doing—actually she didn’t know what they were doing, and she quickly decided that she didn’t want to know.
She was more than willing to abandon the stupid thing before she remembered that it was one of her own designs which Valentino had commissioned for the event, and he knew damn well she could never accept leaving it to rot in some dingy club. Turning back to him with a glare which he returned with a knowing grin, she grumbled in frustration and began ushering them towards the door, careful to skirt around the crowd to avoid calling attention to their eclectic little group. “Zeezi’s probably had them chucked in a storage closet somewhere,” she muttered in defeat. “I’ll find it. Get the idiot home, I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks doll, you’re the best!” Valentino reached out and carefully tucked a loose braid behind her ear as he squeezed by through a side door and out into the sulphur-thick air, tugging Vox along in his wake.
“You’re damn right I am!” she called after him as he waved a parting hand, and she felt just a tinge of bitterness leave her body as she watched them both disappear down the street. With a reluctant sigh, she stepped back into the club, avoiding the main floor as she made her way into what looked like a service corridor.
It was surprisingly quick work to find the room where partygoer’s discarded items had been tossed. The small closet was the sort of space only employees were meant to see, unassuming and tucked away in a small side passage, painted to match the walls. It had clearly been intended to go unnoticed by guests, but Velvette had spent enough of her life working her way up through the lower rungs of the fashion industry to recognise the practicality hidden behind the set dressing of such places.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the dim space, grimacing at the pile of coats and jackets that had been unceremoniously dumped in a pile on the floor. It would seem that Zeezi’s employees were either unaware of the damage this could cause to the garments, or far more likely, simply didn’t care. Velvette had to strive against the urge to start shifting through the different fabrics; arranging them, hanging them, ironing out the wrinkles. Good clothes were hard to come by in Hell and her passion wrestled briefly with her aching nerves before graciously losing the battle. It would seem her desire to escape this exhausting night had won out against her desire for order, just this once.
Stepping further into the dark, her eye was immediately drawn to a little green bundle dangling from the low ceiling, the vibrant colour distinctly out of place in the dreary room, bright and alive. Mistletoe. In the closet. Velvette couldn’t help the snort that escaped her, reflexively darting around to make sure there was nobody about to hear. Seeing that she was still alone, she turned back to the vivid cluster and allowed herself an amused chuckle. After hours spent mingling with crusty, old overlords, it was good to know that at least somebody around here had a sense of humour.
“Leaving so soon? That’s not like you at all, Velvette.”
Velvette would never admit to the yelp she let out at the sound of that voice, rich and husky, slicing through the air with all the deadly precision of a sharpened blade. Springing around, she came face to face with Carmilla Carmine, silhouetted against the doorway, imposing figure blocking all light from the hall.
Her hair wasn’t tied up for once, flowing down her shoulders and back in cascading silver waves, highlighted starkly against the black, silk dress she wore. A creature of contrast, as ever. Her pointed shoes glinted in the low light; angelic steel, pristine and deadly. The thought often entered Velvette’s mind on occasions when their paths crossed, what it must be like to walk so close to Heaven and not be burned by it. To be as near to Paradise as any poor soul in Hell was ever going to get, and to claim it as your own.
“Fucking Hell!” Velvette exclaimed, working overtime to recover her wits. “Where in bloody Hell did you come from?”
Carmilla neglected to answer, stepping into the space with that characteristic dancer’s grace that Velvette had always begrudgingly admired. The delicate ease with which she could command attention, the confident poise of a performer who knew that their talents lay far beyond the need to prove themselves to an audience. Carmilla nudged the door closed behind her and Velvette realised with a swell of nerves that she had allowed herself to be cornered.
“It seems as though your colleague overdid himself tonight. I wanted to ensure that he had been returned to his tower without incident.” Her eyes had taken on a condescending edge that only ever seemed to be levelled at Velvette during overlord meetings; that semi-accusatory glare that never failed to spark a sense of challenge in her gut, shattering the walls of her defensiveness with the defiant need to bite back.
“Bullshit,” Velvette snarled, straightening her posture and refusing to acknowledge the way she still had to look up to meet Carmilla’s eye. “You looking for a fight, Carmine? That’s not like you at all,” she mocked.
The build-up of tension throughout the night was reaching its crescendo. Power sparked at Velvette’s fingertips, the inescapable manifestation of her need for something to happen. A fight would be ideal, a valid excuse to finally let go and work out her frustrations. Vox, Valentino, herself; all the niggling little voices throughout the night that had tested and tried her patience.
“I don’t want to fight you, Velvette.” Carmilla actually eased back, imposing posture slouching somewhat against the wall behind her, hands raising in a placating gesture as Velvette felt the storm inside her instinctually wane. “You forget that I supported Zeezi when she suggested this little...celebration.” The curl of her lip around the word suggested to Velvette that her and Carmilla likely held somewhat similar sentiments about how this ‘celebration’ was going. Despite herself, Velvette almost felt comforted by the thought, the implicit confirmation that she wasn’t the only one bursting at the seams. Carmilla continued, “I agreed that an acknowledgement of the festive season might be beneficial to overall morale and I stand by that, although now I unfortunately find myself inclined to deter any potential political mishaps that such revelry might incur.”
As much as Velvette felt inclined to push back against virtually all things Carmilla Carmine had to say about politics, she had to give the woman this much. She didn’t lie for the sake of lying. If trouble could be avoided by being blunt and straightforward then truthfulness was by far her preferred method. Crammed together in that secluded little closet in the back of a dingy nightclub, there was a genuine seriousness to her bearing that Velvette felt oddly soothed by. For one reason or another, in this moment, she trusted Carmilla Carmine. But if there was one thing Velvette had learned from her time in Hell, it was that trust was just another word for weakness.
Admitting to another overlord the reality that Vox had been taken home early, that he had needed an escort at all, was the equivalent of announcing to all of Hell that his power was up for grabs. That he couldn’t handle his drink, that he had been in a social setting and needed help to extricate himself from it...that he was as vulnerable as any other Sinner when he got stupid enough to let his guard down.
Velvette couldn’t sell Vox down the river like that. She wouldn’t. Their brand was perfection and Carmilla didn’t need to know it was all a lie, that beneath the diamond surface of them all, which they had worked so hard to cultivate, there was a soul as breakable as glass just waiting for a hammer to bear down on it. She could not allow Carmilla to know just how close they all were to falling apart.
“Vox can handle himself,” she bit out, teeth bared in a grin so sharp and wide it hurt to keep up. She was scrambling, eyes darting this way and that, searching for something, anything to divert the other overlord’s attention, to distract her from the inch Velvette had just given so that she didn’t think to take a mile. Green flashed in the corner of her vision and for a moment of inspiration Velvette stilled, and then quicker than she could process the choice she was making, her smile morphed into a smirk as she once again met Carmilla’s eyes.
“Let’s be real, Carmine. You can’t expect me to believe you’re actually concerned. We’re both overlords, we can be honest with each other.” Her smirk widened suggestively as Carmilla’s stance grew wary, straightening up once more to tower over her. “I know you’re not here to bitch about my business partners. So, either you’re here to start trouble, or...” She directed her gaze upward and watched in delight as Carmilla followed and stilled when she caught sight of the mistletoe. “You’ve got something else in mind.”
The cold mask Carmilla always wore briefly shattered in an expression of such incredulity that Velvette had to fight the urge to laugh. “Seriously?” Carmilla looked back down at her with such a weary sense of disappointment that Velvette was suddenly reminded that she was a mother of two. Her tone had been dismissive, but her gaze held the heat of a thousand suns and Velvette could almost feel the layers of her defences burning away beneath it. At least she wasn’t mad.
“Come on, Carmine,” she stammered, wrestling for control over the shakiness threatening to overtake her voice. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve, not after you’ve come this far! Tis the season, and all that. I thought old bats like you had a hard on for tradition.”
This was the point when Carmilla was supposed to recoil in disgust, to take her proposition as the act of humiliation it was intended to be and to storm out before things could escalate. Velvette would be left alone, threadbare but whole, picking up the pieces of her dignity and with any luck, Valentino’s damn coat. However, it would seem her plan had backfired somewhat.
Carmilla was watching her, eyes turned dark and intense as they roamed the space between them with a sense of discernment that made Velvette feel utterly taken apart, as though in spite of the countless layers of identity she had dressed herself up in, this woman still maintained the capacity to see right through her. Carmilla glanced once more up to the mistletoe, then down to her face, and then she stepped forward.
“Very well,” she said. Velvette felt her mask of salaciousness fall, giving way to wide-eyed shock.
“Wait, what?”
“It’s been a long night,” Carmilla continued, advancing toward her as Velvette took a step back, sucking in a hitched breath as she bumped into the wall behind her. “As grating as Zeezi’s overenthusiasm can be, I supported her because I understand the benefits of putting aside our differences every once in a while. Since you’re clearly in need of a distraction, I see no reason not to indulge in this temporary truce of ours.” Carmilla’s eyes flickered down to her lips, and Velvette swallowed as the anxiety that had been building within her chest steadily took on the fluttering quality of excitement. “That is, if you think you handle it.”
The small bubble of tension that had been building in the air between them temporarily burst as Velvette fought through a wave of incredulity. “Um, fuck you,” she said, flashing a finger in Carmilla’s face as the other woman silently regarded her. “I can handle twice as much as whatever a dried up antique like you has to offer.”
Any further attempts at posturing where immediately dissolved the moment Carmilla stepped fully into her space, minute smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she brought a large hand to brush against Velvette’s shoulder. “Experience yields wisdom, Velvette, and it would you seem you are lacking in both.”
The hand travelled slowly down the length of her arm, fingers brushing lightly against the synthetic skin as Velvette shivered beneath the touch. “What, you gonna teach me a lesson? How original.”
Velvette wasn’t sure how she had lost control of this situation so quickly, but she was now overcome with the sudden need to see it through, to understand exactly how far Carmilla was willing to take things if given the opportunity. Carmilla smirked down at her and Velvette swallowed.
“We both have reputations to consider, you understand.” she murmured, hand darting back up the length of Velvette’s arm to brush against her cheek as the other came to rest on the wall beside her head. “None of what we do here leaves this room.”
Velvette’s chest was heaving, pent up frustration threatening to spill out of her in a cataclysmic flood if something, anything, didn’t happened soon. “Want to make that a deal?” she offered, hoping to get things moving. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
Carmilla paused for a moment, a brief, indescribable something flashing behind the dark pools of her eyes and then passing out of sight. “No,” she mumbled, the heat of her body pressing close enough to burn as Velvette felt something within her shatter. “I trust you.”
The whisper of their lips was gentle, smooth and soft as silk. Carmilla pressed into her with a tender determination, guiding their lips in a slow dance of force and restraint. Velvette felt herself reaching for more, a surprised gasp escaping her mouth as she was met half way, Carmilla grasping her hip in a firm hand whilst the other cradled against her cheek, directing her chin to tilt up as they moved closer together, deepening the touch.
Velvette would later concede in the most private parts of herself and whilst nobody was around to witness her spiral, that she had once again underestimated Carmilla Carmine. That if there was one thing that woman knew how to do, it was exceed expectations.
Velvette was expecting a push, a siege, the overwhelming forcefulness with which Carmilla approached all things, to be thrown against her without restraint. She had imagined what a kiss with her might be like before, passing the tedium of overlord meetings embarrassingly glued to Vox’s side with the mental image of what the two of them might do together if only they had the room to themselves. The hands, the teeth, the blood and bite of it all. There was an excitement to that idea of a kiss, and a certain sense of fear. The exhilaration that came with parading confidence before a crowd, watching them sate their hunger on a façade in the hopes that they would forget to feast on you.
She had braced herself, muscles tense as Carmilla’s lips met hers and she had imagined herself devoured. But the pain never came. No blood was spilled, no throats slit. Instead, Velvette could feel herself crumbling beneath the gentleness of a caress she could never have imagined; knees trembling, mouth parting around a series of breathless gasps as Carmilla rubbed soothing circles against her cheek.
Velvette’s mind was a fog, a confused miasma of surprise and terror and pleasure as she leant further into Carmilla’s space, hands rising to clamber at her waist, fingers dancing along the material of her dress. The silk was smooth, flawless, playing delicately with the curves of her body in gentle rivers of obsidian. A fine belt adorned the waist, thin and elegant, dripping in iridescent pearls, both complimentary and contrasting in a way designed to draw the eye, to invite flattery. Velvette wanted to tear the entire outfit off and burn it. She wanted to preserve it in resin so it could never be tarnished by time or memory. She wanted Carmilla to be her model, her muse, the centre of her design.
And then the kiss was over. So lost in thought and feeling, Velvette was left suddenly and despairingly bereft as Carmilla pulled away, lips bruised and cheeks flushed. She was left adrift within the tingling remnants of their touch, staring wide-eyed up into the inscrutable eyes of the most dangerous woman she had ever met, who looked as severe and untouchable as ever. As the moment stretched on, the air filled with nothing but the sound of Velvette’s own hurried breaths as she fought to regain control of her senses, Carmilla’s lips twitched up in a self-satisfied smirk.
“What was that you were saying about being dried up?” Carmilla asked, light dancing in her hair like sun against steel. The woman was unshakeable, as poised as ever, and the look she wore said she knew it. Velvette, on the other hand, felt like she’d been run through a steam press; hot and frazzled and smoothed out at the edges.
“Not bad,” she conceded, still gliding along the current of touch and emotion that had just passed through her, cleanly washing away the last vestiges of sanity she had given up clinging to. She pressed a grin against her teeth, the self-aggrandising mask of a prey animal with nothing left to lose. “For an old hag.”
It was the final death-throes of her control clawing for some pushback, for that arrogant, haughty, borderline condescending look down her nose that Carmilla loved to level at people she thought lesser than herself. A cutting remark would have been one thing, Velvette would have welcomed that. A good, petty fight to get her back on familiar ground, to settle her again in the mundane push and pull of their regular encounters. Velvette had not been expecting the laugh.
It was a quiet, subtle thing; soft and husky, the crunch of freshly fallen snow, the satisfying crackle of melting ice. Velvette had never heard Carmilla laugh and she experienced a moment of almost regret as she considered all the opportunities she had missed, all the moments lost to time that she could have done something to prompt such a reaction. As the sound rattled through her, she was made suddenly aware of how close they were still standing, the heat of their bodies pressed together. Carmilla’s hand had come to rest lightly on her shoulder as warm breath passed between them, caressing Velvette’s cheek as she looked up into the glowing embers of her eyes.
“Has anyone ever told you, that you are an utterly insufferable brat?” Carmilla chuckled, and if Velvette didn’t know better she would have said that her tone sounded almost fond. The smile on her face was like none she’d ever seen before, turned up softly at the corners, complimented by the flash of lightning hidden within her gaze, that sharp spark of challenge which Velvette had never been able to resist.
“You know, not all of us get off on being impossible to please. Maybe you just need to lighten up.” Velvette felt her breath hitch as Carmilla’s smile sharpened and the grip that had remained around her waist tightened.
“Insolent,” Carmilla murmured, looking her up and down with a focus that had Velvette fighting not to shiver. “One of these days I’ll have to teach you some respect.”
Velvette looked up through her lashes, noting the subtle, violet flush dusting Carmilla’s cheeks. “Nah,” she grinned, plucking the hand from her shoulder and bringing it to her mouth. “You’d get bored.” Velvette pressed a kiss against her knuckles and watched in satisfaction as Carmilla’s eyes widened.
“Well, we can’t have that,” she muttered, voice hushed.
Velvette could almost hear the cogs turning, that cold, assessing quality to Carmilla’s mind that always had her planning two steps ahead before making a move. Things weren’t ever supposed to get this far. It was a miracle that Carmilla had been willing to meet her on this level, and there was a part of Velvette which insisted that she should just be grateful to have lasted this long without meeting the sharp end of an angelic steel blade; but nevertheless, she wanted more. She wanted something to break the tension, to pull her out of the aching miasma of torment that she had suffered through for more than just this night. One final push to get the ball rolling before Carmilla realised how insane she was acting and decided to pull away.
Velvette shoved herself forwards, hands on Carmilla’s waist driving their hips together in a desperate press of heat and desire, only to yelp in surprise as her wrists were suddenly seized, pressed back against the wall in a firm grasp. “Behave,” Carmilla said firmly, and Velvette shivered.
She looked up at the woman looming above her, grinned, and inched a thigh into the space between her legs, delighting in the surprised gasp in drew. “Make me,” she challenged.
Carmilla invaded her space, and there was that fieriness she had been holding back, that powerful force of nature she had so neatly tucked away behind a veneer of control and elegance. Carmilla let go of her wrists as she pushed Velvette back against the wall, pinning her in place with a hand at her hip as the other carded fingers through her hair, tugging sharply at the roots. Velvette bit back a whimper as her mouth was drawn into another kiss, far more ferocious than the last.
She reached out for stability, clinging to Carmilla’s shoulders as she trailed scorching touches down her chest, her stomach, her sides. That delicate, fleeting contact through the barrier of her shirt somehow enough to set Velvette’s blood racing. Determined not to be outdone, she pulled away from the kiss, rising up on her toes so she could begin trailing small, teasing bites along Carmilla’s jaw. A steadying grip came to settle at her waist as Velvette leant in to further mouth across her neck, scratching sharp teeth against the delicate skin and lavishing the marks left behind with her tongue. Carmilla hummed with satisfaction as her fingers trailed down to settle heavily against Velvette’s belt buckle.
“Velvette,” she gasped as she received a sharp nip to the shoulder before the sting was gentled with another kiss. “I need you to tell me now if this is something that you want.”
Velvette pulled away, flushed and panting, to level an incredulous look at Carmilla, who she was stunned to realise appeared completely serious. “You what?” Carmilla simply raised a perfect brow in response and Velvette felt heat rising to her cheeks. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. You going blind or something?” she said, awkwardly gesturing to the space between them, or more accurately, to the lack of space between them.
“Velvette,” Carmilla said, and there was something in her tone that made Velvette freeze. Stop. Really take in the woman before her and see the full extent of just how affected she was. The shine of eyes in the low light, the heaving of her chest in time with the sound of quickened breaths, the light dusting of colour across her cheeks that for a moment, made her seem so genuinely, unutterably alive. “If we are to go any further then I must demand complete and total honesty between us. No posturing, no performance, only the truth.”
“Truth?” Velvette felt that hollowed out ache from earlier rising within her once again, souring the pleasure in her gut, turning heat to acid. “That’s a laugh. This is Hell, in case you’d forgotten. We’re all liars down here.” A space appeared between them; small, subtle, just enough to make her understand how serious Carmilla was being, how ready she was to pull away. “And besides,” she uttered, fighting against the urge to cling to the woman before her, to never let her go. “What’s your truth Carmilla? Since we’re being honest with each other. What are you getting out of this?”
There was no hesitation in Carmilla’s response. “The truth is that there are times I wish I could stand to be seen wanting you. That if you were to allow me right now, I would take great satisfaction in helping you fall apart.”
Velvette stilled completely, breath hitching in her throat, fire coiling in her chest. “What’re you on about?” she whispered.
“You wanted the truth Velvette. You have it.” Carmilla’s tone was low and iron-clad, but there was a softness to the way she held herself now that made her seem almost delicate. As though she were just as fragile and breakable as Velvette felt. “Now, tell me what you want.”
Velvette knew in that moment that she could call it all off and there would be no judgement from Carmilla. No question as to why or how come. She could leave this musty old closet with her dignity intact, secure in the knowledge that whatever decisions had been made, they had all been made on her own terms. Velvette laid her hand on Carmilla’s where it rested against her belt and squeezed. “I want you,” she said. “All of you.”
Carmilla smiled, brighter and more dazzling than the distant star of Heaven against Hell’s sky. She leant in and kissed Velvette, their lips brushing together in a soft symphony of connection. “Then I shall be yours happily, for as long as you can endure.”
Velvette gasped as her belt was snapped open and Carmilla pried open the button of her trousers, slipping them down past her waist. Throwing her head back, she released a breathy moan as Carmilla pressed the heel of her palm against the heat of her arousal, grinding down as Velvette’s nails bit into her wrist.
It was exquisite. It was too much, too little, too unlike anything she had felt before. It was such a simple touch, the gentle pressure of a hand Velvette had experienced countless times before from countless nobodies, who had all left her feeling just as empty and wanting as when they had started. But this wasn’t nobody, it was Carmilla. Carmilla Carmine with her hand down her pants, pressing kisses to her neck, murmuring praise into her ear with an earnestness that had Velvette’s legs shaking, stumbling against the wall.
“Careful.” Carmilla’s tone was light and teasing, amused in a way Velvette was beginning to think she could get used to. “I’ve hardly touched you yet.”
Velvette shifted and winced at the wetness she could already feel building between her thighs, that undeniable proof of how little it had taken for her to fall apart. She huffed and turned her head away, desperately searching for some plausible deniability. “It’s hardly comfortable, you know?”, is what she settled on, reaching back to tap her knuckles against a low shelf she had just avoided knocking her head against. “Hardly ladylike either, going at it against a wall like strangers rutting in the bog. I thought better of you, Carmine.”
It was supposed to be biting, a vicious little nip to divert attention from the rising wave of mortification threatening to overtake her. Once again, Carmilla took her by surprise, looking genuinely thoughtful as she assessed their position. Her eyes darted briefly around the enclosed space before pausing and then landing back on Velvette with a smug, focused edge that made her reconsider if this distraction had really been worth it.
“You’re right,” Carmilla said matter-of-factly, and Velvette couldn’t help the gasp that left her as the woman’s hands pulled away, the desperate yearning in her gut to dig her claws in and drag the woman back into place. “I’ve been deeply inconsiderate,” she continued smoothly, seemingly oblivious to Velvette’s rising panic. “Allow me to rectify the situation.”
All of a sudden, Velvette was flying, Carmilla’s large hands wrapped beneath her thighs as they hoisted her into the air. Velvette yelped, wrapping her legs around Carmilla’s back, hands scrambling for purchase as they clung to her hair and shoulders. Carmilla laughed as she spun them around before slowly descending to her knees and depositing Velvette gently atop the mountain of discarded clothes that had been so carelessly tossed to the floor earlier.
“Better?” Carmilla asked, eyes downright sparkling with amusement as Velvette looked up into them, and she realised with a start that she was laughing too. Velvette didn’t get to laugh often. Good, genuine laughs; the sort that happened only when you knew nobody was watching; the ugly, snorting belly laughs that left you feeling warm and satisfied after. Velvette lay atop a pile of discarded clothes the owners were unlikely to want back after this, staring up into the blushing face of Carmilla Carmine who had just pulled a stunt that she would have ended literally anybody else for even attempting, and she was laughing.
Carmilla smiled as she stroked her hands down Velvette’s sides, gently caressing the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts, as Velvette shook beneath her, stomach aching with the force of the grin on her face. Slowly she settled, taking one of Carmilla’s hands in her own and pressing it to her heaving chest, as if to hold back the heart that no longer beat within it.
“Next time, you warn a girl,” she chuckled, and Velvette wasn’t going to investigate the lingering implications of her own statement, the hovering promise of a next time that seemed to have sent Carmilla’s fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. Now laying on her back, she could truly appreciate the way the other woman seemed to loom over her, knelt between her legs, bracketing her in with a hand beside her head. Carmilla was the only thing she could see. In that moment, she was everything.
Velvette glanced down between her legs, nudging Carmilla with a knee as she once again met her eye. “You gonna finish what you started or are you waiting for me to say please?” Her voice was cut with the sharp blade of sarcasm, but she could tell from the look that passed over Carmilla’s face that it hadn’t been nearly enough to disguise the genuine want that lay beneath it.
“If you’re asking me to make you beg then I’m afraid I’ll have to deny you, at least for tonight. This,” Carmilla said, nodding her head to the side in a gesture that somehow accurately conveyed the absurdity of their entire situation, “is hardly ideal.” She was right of course, but Velvette still only narrowly escaped the disappointment threatening to colour her expression, before Carmilla gently took her chin in hand and forced their gazes together. “Although,” she continued, as fingertips came to dance delicately across Velvette’s lips. “Circumstances aside, I do so adore good manners.”
The seductive curve of her smile creased at the corners of her eyes, fine lines of delight and warmth and memory, drawing across her face in stunning valleys of emotion. Velvette’s lips parted, teeth grazing the point of a finger as she met the eyes of the woman above her in awe, as though she were something divine. “Please,” she whispered. Carmilla grinned and pressed a finger into her mouth.
Once again it struck Velvette just how gentle Carmilla was being, at her frustrating proclivity for exceeding expectations in all things. As another finger joined the first, Velvette parted her lips wider, working her tongue in circles, sucking carefully on the sharp points that had yet to draw even a single drop of blood. Her chest heaved and she gasped for breath as Carmilla pulled the hand away, bringing it down to the space between Velvette’s legs and pressing lightly against her entrance. “Are you ready?” she asked.
Velvette levelled her with a glare so severe it could have cut diamond. “If you don’t get on with it right this bloody second I swear I’ll—”
Carmilla pressed in, Velvette’s voice trailing off in a deep moan of satisfaction as she at last drew the other woman into her. Carmilla was slow, efficient, pushing in with a gentle ferocity that had Velvette feeling utterly under siege and yet undeniably cared for. Carmilla gave her the time she needed to adjust, the time so few Sinners in Hell were ever allowed, and Velvette for a single, terrifying moment, thought she might start crying.
“Just like that, Velvette,” Carmilla murmured, pressing a kiss against her stomach as she cried out in time with a twist of her wrist. “You’re doing so well for me.” Carmilla’s voice fell from above like rain to a desert, and Velvette had to swallow back the moan that threatened to spill over as she drank in the sound of that gentle encouragement. Carmilla watched carefully as she eased herself in, stroking her thumb against Velvette’s chest where their hands were still tangled together. The heel of her free palm pressed down against her clit and Velvette bore down into it, grinding against the friction with barely restrained desperation, building steadily to an end she had no desire to stave off.
“Do you think you can take another?” Carmilla asked and Velvette almost said yes. Carmilla’s hands were large, her fingers thick and overwhelming. Velvette had imagined what it would be like to take them, the challenge they would pose, the satisfaction of the burn and ache of them. And yet, this was the first time in a long time that she had shared an experience like this with someone which hadn’t inevitably led to pain, even if that pain had been welcome. Her time with Carmilla had been nothing like that. It was starting to occur to Velvette that she didn’t want it to be.
Before Velvette even registered what she was doing she was shaking her head, no. Carmilla nodded in response, leaning down to press another languid kiss against her lips. “Very well,” she said, and that was that. No judgement, no pushback, no expectations. Velvette threaded her fingers through Carmilla’s hair, parting through the softness of it like a blade through water as she deepened the kiss with a sense of gratitude that had tears prickling behind her eyelids.
There was a familiar fire raging within her, that slow building spark of an ache settling low in her gut as Carmilla continued to grind into her, pumping her finger in and out faster and faster as the pressure built. “Close,” she panted against Carmilla’s lips and received a satisfied hum in response, a smile pressed into her cheek as breath ghosted against her ear.
“Want me to help you along?”
“Please,” she responded, and received a final parting kiss on her lips before Carmilla was moving down her body, gentle kisses ghosting along the fabric of her shirt as tension curled in the air like smoke. Velvette squeezed the hand against her chest, bracing for what she knew was about to happen as Carmilla bent between her legs and lowered herself down.
The sound Velvette let out echoed loudly in the space around them, a scream of pure ecstasy as Carmilla took her into her mouth, finger continuing to drive in and out as she bore down with a near bruising suction. Velvette felt herself cresting that peak as she clawed at the tattered remnants of discarded belongings around her, teetering on the verge of an unknown she was all too familiar with. Carmilla swiped her tongue along the valley of her groin, twisted her wrist at an electric angle, and in a hot flash of vibration and warmth said, “let go for me, Velvette.”
And she did. Velvette’s back arched up and off their makeshift bed, mouth open in a silent cry as she came, shaking with the overwhelming feeling of pure pleasure flooding her senses. Carmilla stayed where she was, working through each shock as her hand steadily began to slow, all the while murmuring praise against her thigh, sweet nothings that Velvette could hardly spare the energy to decipher.
Slowly she came down, head falling back against a pillow of soft fur, stifling a whimper as Carmilla pulled out. They finally parted, hands detangling as Velvette remained where she was, laying on her back and panting with the fading exhilaration as Carmilla shuffled around, wiping her hand clean against some poor sap’s cheap scarf before gently tucking Velvette back into her trousers, leaving the belt open and unbuckled. Once she seemed satisfied, she came to settle beside Velvette, warmly pressing up against her side as she reclined atop an ugly, chequered shawl.
“What are you playing at, Carmine?” Velvette mumbled tiredly as the other woman curled around her, wrapping an arm across her waist in an embrace so warm and inviting, Velvette was almost inclined to let herself feel comforted by it.
Carmilla shifted against her, drawing a hand up to scratch lightly along her scalp as the other drew them closer together. “You won’t see any games from me, Velvette. Not when it comes to this.” A kiss was pressed lightly to her cheek and Velvette, despite herself, leant into the contact, luxuriating in the rare tenderness of the moment.
“Didn’t fix you for the aftercare type,” she muttered, eyes drifting closed as Carmilla massaged the base of her neck.
“Perhaps it has somehow miraculously escaped your notice, but you do not know me nearly as well as you like to believe.”
Velvette blinked her eyes open, looking to the woman lounging beside her. Carmilla had always been severe in their interactions, the immovable object to her unstoppable force, the iron fist of authority that she had reluctantly, silently looked up to. Carmilla had an iron will, one, Velvette thought, that might just rival her own. And yet there was a softness to her as well. In the way she guided other overlords against acts that would cause social unrest, the regard and adoration she so openly held for her daughters, the friendships she had cultivated in respected partners like Zestial.
Velvette could see through to the very core of Carmilla Carmine with little more than a glance, the still heart of her, and any other day she might have called the capacity for gentleness she found there weakness. But this was not any other day, and Carmilla, for once, was right.
“Maybe you got me there,” she conceded, to the response of a single raised brow, the sight of which made her snort in unreserved amusement. “It’s just—overlords y’know,” she continued after an inquisitive nudge from Carmilla. “Our lot don’t generally buy in to all this lovey-dovey crap.”
“I disagree,” Carmilla responded with the arrogant air of someone who knew with a certainty that they were always right, and truly, Velvette hadn’t expected anything less. “Love, in all its many forms, is what makes us human. It is what we are best at, what binds us together.” Fingers skimmed gently across Velvette’s hand, stroking along the fine lines at her joints with a gentle attentiveness that had never before been afforded to the faults of her.
“You won’t survive long getting bound to folks in Hell, Carmine. Letting people close like that, may as well stab yourself in the back and save them the trouble.” Velvette wanted to know where this woman’s careful adoration came from, how it was able to tug so ardently at the loneliness and fear burning within the core or her, how the hell she was supposed to bear it. “We only have ourselves to rely on down here, and we ain’t human anymore.”
Carmilla seemed to consider this for a moment as her touch danced gracefully across Velvette’s knuckles before once again tangling their fingers together, tethering them in an echo of before.
“And yet,” she finally whispered, and Velvette felt her breath rush warm against her brow. “Here we are.”
Velvette didn’t know how to respond to that. She turned fully onto her side and reached down, fingers alighting on Carmilla’s thigh and trailing upwards, riding up the hem of her dress before a hand suddenly came to stop her own, pausing its journey with an abruptness that had Velvette blinking dumbly for a few moments before pulling away.
“Didn’t take you for a prude,” she needled, all the while retracing her movements searching for a sign of what she had done wrong, the reason why she was being pushed away. “You gonna let me return the favour or what?” Carmilla gave her that small, warm smile yet again, and Velvette still hadn’t figured out why that expression in particular was what made heat rise to her cheeks, how she knew with a certainty that she was now destined to spend the rest of her afterlife wanting to see it again.
“No, thank you,” Carmilla replied, tone soft and genuine. As Velvette continued to spiral within herself she was jolted startingly back to reality when a cool hand met her cheek, prompting her to refocus on the woman before her. “I find myself quite satisfied as is, for now,” she murmured, levelling Velvette was an expression so salacious that it had her blushing beneath the attention. “In any case,” Carmilla continued. “I need to get back to the party before someone comes looking.” She steadily moved to stand, and Velvette had to fight the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and pull her back down, to ask to be held for just a little longer. “I take it that since you are feeling well enough for another round that you will have no problem seeing yourself home. I am sorry I cannot escort you.”
“Seriously?” Velvette stammered incredulously, watching as Carmilla straightened out her appearance, parting fingers through her mussed hair and smoothing down her dress until she was looking as poised and collected as she had upon first entering that dreadful room. “But I-”
Velvette was cut off as Carmilla’s hand suddenly came to rest beneath her chin, tilting her head up, locking her gaze with a sharp-edged smile and shadowed eyes. “You were wonderful,” she said, with such earnestness that Velvette felt the breath catch in her throat. “Perhaps if you’re really so eager, I’ll allow you to sate my cravings next time.”
She bent down to press one final parting kiss to Velvette’s cheek before pulling away, that gentle caress leaving Velvette stammering and tripping over herself, violently detangling her legs from a scarf as Carmilla elegantly made her way towards the door. “Next time? Hey, next time! Hang on lady, who the hell said there would be a next time?”
“I hold you to no obligation Velvette, your choices are your own to make. Although...” Carmilla trailed off, a smirk alighting on her face, sharp as a blade and twice as deadly as Velvette stumbled to her feet. “It will be New Year’s soon. I understand it is customary to share a kiss at midnight.” Her eyes glanced briefly to the ceiling before darting back to Velvette’s, steel against porcelain. “And you know how fond I am of tradition.”
The door opened, light spilling like gold across the floor as Carmilla stood silhouetted against it, poised and perfect, and beautiful. “Merry Sinsmas, Velvette,” she said, and then she was gone, door shutting behind her with a soft click, leaving Velvette standing dumbstruck in the dark atop a haphazard nest of soiled fabric.
She stared incredulously at the door for a moment, looked down at herself in all her debauched glory, and then looked up to the ceiling, eyes locked accusingly on the bright sprig of mistletoe dangling there.
“Motherfucker,” she mumbled, fingers raising to brush against her lips. “Motherfucker!”
Velvette made her way back to Vee Tower right as the rest of Pentagram City was waking, the red sky of Hell scorching her path home in a kaleidoscopic haze of colour and shadow. Lost in the miasma of her own thoughts and the aching, unnameable thing coiling within her chest, she hardly noticed as she passed through the doors to the elevator that would take her up to the residential floors.
Stepping out into the living space, she was abruptly lifted from the swirling fog of her mind by the sight of Valentino lounging on the sofa, a suspiciously TV-shaped lump bundled over his lap. At last, the bubble of confusion which had left her feeling so unpalatably lost since fleeing that cursed storage closet was finally broken, by a rising wave of annoyance at the thought of having to give yet another lecture on inappropriate uses of the common area. Leaping at the chance to cling to anger in favour of whatever other nebulous feelings had been fighting for dominium in her chest, Velvette readied herself to march over, only to halt as the familiar sound of static-laden snores shattered the quiet of the room.
“Oh, that’s just fucking typical,” she muttered, as her frustration quelled itself and was instead replaced with that reluctant fondness she so loved to despise. Valentino turned his head as he picked up on the sound, acknowledging her with a teasing smirk.
“The walk of shame? At this hour? You should ashamed Vel, not even making them pay for breakfast.” His tone was light and despite herself Velvette felt a tired smile tugging at her lips. A grumble emanated from Valentino’s lap and Velvette watched him move a hand to stroke lightly up and down Vox’s back until he once again settled. His voice was quieter as he asked, “Seriously though, where have you been? And where the hell’s my coat?”
Velvette shrugged her shoulders, eyes darting to the floor-length windows which displayed the Pride Ring in all its glory stretching out far beyond them. In the distance, flurries of factory smoke plumed upwards, wisps of remnants of angelic steel reaching for that heavenly speck of light in the sky before dissipating into nothing. A gentle cough brought her back to attention, back to Valentino and his cocky grin. “Got distracted,” she admitted.
He lit up and clapped his hands together, wings twitching in excitement, prompting another set of dissatisfied mumbling from Vox who somehow remained miraculously asleep. He must have really overdone it. “Oh, you slut! Do tell.” Valentino was practically vibrating in his seat as Velvette made her way over to the sofa, propping a hip against the arm rest.
Despite her sexual appetite, Velvette very rarely hooked up with anybody. Most days it seemed too much effort for too little reward, navigating the arduous state of her privacy as a social media overlord. She could have told him. Part of her wanted to. But then another part of her remained tucked warmly within that uncomfortable closet, breath against her cheek, I trust you against her lips.
“Piss off,” she chuckled, uncertainty tucked safely behind a sharp grin as she levelled Valentino with an even sharper look.
“Alright. Alright.” He laughed lightly, raising two hands in playful surrender as the others settled against Vox, whose screen was set to standby as he slept through a show playing on the main television, which he had undoubtedly demanded to have put on.
Velvette took a closer look at what was showing and heaved a weary sigh when she realised it was exactly what she should have expected. “Shark week? Really? That’s what gets you going nowadays?” She glanced down at Valentino who looked as fondly exasperated as she felt, an odd expression for him to wear. “I reckon Vox is rubbing off on you,” she punctuated with a playful jab to his shoulder.
“Oh, if only,” he replied with an exaggerated moan, and Velvette had to smother a cackle into her arm. Maybe it was the afterglow, the fading buzz, the low lights or that unknowable quiet that always seemed to overtake the streets of Hell at this hour of the morning, but there was a softness in the air that Velvette, for once, happily settled into. Even Valentino, for every promiscuous, crude, excitable part of him, seemed almost gentle in this moment, relaxed in a way she rarely got to see him. “You know how he gets when he drinks,” he continued, gesturing down to Vox. “Guapo couldn’t get it up if he tried. And even if he did, I doubt he could keep it up. A word of advice, never fall for a man.”
She cocked a brow at him doubtfully. “You realise that advice is a bit redundant for me, yeah?”
“Don’t have to remind me babydoll,” he replied with a smirk. “Who said it was for you?”
He turned back to the large screen with a sigh and Velvette followed his gaze. A Great White floated by the camera, teeth bared, eyes blank. Velvette felt that near-nauseating sense of emptiness welling up within her again, the one she hadn’t quite been able to shake off from earlier in the night, even if her encounter with Carmilla had alleviated the ache of it somewhat. The expansive blue of the ocean flooded the screen and bled out into the room, rippling reflections spilling across her face, the walls, the windows. She watched the waves lap against the glass for a moment, sipping at the shore of a blood-red sky, before turning he eyes to Vox, sprawled out across the cushions, face empty and restful, claws wrapped carefully over one of two hands resting on his stomach.
“Why d’you let him do that?” she mumbled into the quiet. Valentino turned to her with an inquisitive hum and she glanced away, eyes dancing over scenes of coral and seaweed. “Back at the club. Why d’you let him get away with treating you like second best?”
He seemed to still a moment, fist clenching in his lap, wrinkling the fabric of his favourite skirt. “We’re hardly exclusive Vel,” he mumbled, voice small and so unlike him it almost hurt to hear.
“It ain’t about exclusivity though, is it?” She saw the moment it dawned on him. The way he looked down at Vox’s hand tangled up in his. How his body angled away from the windows, from her; wings wrapping around his shoulders, a shield of colour cupping the light of the TV and capturing himself and Vox within a quiet bubble of blue.
Vox had always been obsessive, for as long as she’d known him, and Valentino had known him for even longer. That single-minded focus was both his greatest strength and most glaring flaw. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, to cutting his losses and admitting when he had been bested. The idiot still seemed to be under the impression that she and Val were unaware of the radio he kept stashed in his room, of the way he would sometimes go silent and still as his screen danced with static, listening out for a signal that was no longer there.
Velvette could hardly judge, she didn’t want to. This was Hell after all, and in Hell everyone was out for themselves. Except sometimes they weren’t. Even surrounded by the battlefield of soul contacts, potion-making, and bloodshed, she and the boys could share moments like this, huddled together in front of a screen where there were no expectations or manipulations. Just three terrible people choosing not to be terrible to each other. When she was with them, Velvette felt like a person, and even in life that had been a rare thing.
As she looked down at the only friends she had made in all her afterlife, she found herself thinking of Carmilla. Her gentle smile, her warms hands. She thought of Vox and Valentino, and the destructive kind of love they shared and how utterly impossible it seemed. Velvette sat beside two of the worst people in Hell and knew that it was only a matter of time before they destroyed each other, before they destroyed themselves.
She pressed a hand to Valentino’s shoulder and asked, “Why give yourself to someone who won’t do the same for you?”
Valentino brought a hand to rest atop hers and smiled. “Porque soy un idiota y estoy enamorado.”
And yet, here we are.
Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and laughed when he dramatically tried to swat her away. “Merry Sinsmas, Val,” she chuckled. She turned to Vox and flicked his antenna, smirking as he squirmed in his sleep, twisting to wrap his arms around Valentino’s torso. “You too, idiot,” she grinned, as his face briefly lit up in a sleepy pout before flicking back to standby as he burrowed deeper into his embrace.
Valentino smothered a laugh as Vox settled, tracing a hand gently around the edges of his screen and flashing an uncharacteristically soft look up at Velvette. “Merry Sinsmas, Vel.”
Velvette left them basking in their blue haze of static as she made her way to her rooms. She went to snap her fingers, power rushing to her call with the intention of changing for bed, but something compelled her to stave off the impulse. Instead, she approached her closet where she picked out a comfortable set of pyjamas, before shedding her soiled outfit and leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor. It was nice, she thought, as she pulled a fresh shirt over her head, feeling the drag of the fabric, the itch of her hair against her back as it got caught beneath the neckline. It made her feel alive.
She contemplated her bed for a moment, and then the window that lay across from it, letting the neon glow of the entertainment district spill across her floor like oil on water. Velvette walked to the glass and stood for a time, watching Hell turn beneath her. Somewhere amidst that cacophony of desperation and duplicitousness was an overlord with the capacity to tear it all down. A woman made of steel and ice, a woman who knew what it meant to want without taking. A woman who had held Velvette with the sort of gentleness she had forgotten was possible.
She smiled in spite of herself, hands pressed to the cool window, face basking in the violet glow of her very own slice of Hell. Velvette closed her eyes and pressed a kiss against the glass. “Merry Sinsmas,” she whispered against the fog of her breath. “Carmilla.”