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It’s three in the morning and Vox is pissed the fuck off.
Valentino has gone out for the night, which isn’t unusual. He’s gone by himself, which also isn’t unusual. Vox has never found the same debauched pleasure in the pulsing heat and sound of a club the way Valentino does, and is content to keep an eye on his partner from the thousands upon thousands of cameras positioned around Pride.
What is unusual is that Valentino is currently letting multiple intoxicated sinners get their hands all over him. And not in the typical way where he flirts with potential new talent, like a carnivorous plant luring in its prey. When it’s like that, it’s obvious that it’s all for show, just another part Valentino plays in his game—a game he always wins. It’s enjoyable, amusing even, when Vox gets to watch the pimp toy with people.
This is not that. This is two men, one clearly Wrathian in nature (which is so insulting, honestly, that Valentino is even entertaining someone so implike in appearance) and the other some sort of peacock-looking dickhead, feeling up Valentino like he’s some common whore. As if they’re the ones in control. As if Valentino is letting them see him submissive.
And look, Vox knows monogamy isn’t even a word in Valentino’s lexicon. But there are rules to what they have. The main one, the most important one, is that Valentino is free to fuck whatever stupid slut he wants, but Vox is the only person in hell who gets to put him on his back.
Apparently, Valentino has forgotten said rule. That, or he just doesn’t care. Either case is unacceptable.
The peacock’s hand slides up Valentino’s skirt, and Vox puts his fist straight through the screen.
✸
Vox taps his foot impatiently, arms crossed, his screen dimmed as he waits on the chaise lounge in Valentino’s darkened room. He’s left the lights off, knowing it’s going to startle the fuck out of the moth when he returns and finds his partner there with no warning. He knows it’s cliche. Corny, even, when he thinks about it too hard. But, well, he didn’t become one of the most recognizable brands in Pride by not having a flair for the dramatic.
After switching to a different screen across from the one he broke, Vox had watched with growing irritation until Valentino finally grew bored of his little stunt and stumbled out of the club to where his driver was waiting. Once the car had pulled away from the curb, Vox zapped into the power lines and traveled up to one of the many cameras in Valentino’s room. The outlet continued to spark even after he’d exited, proof of his foul mood. Then he’d planted himself on the couch and stewed in his own anger.
The door finally creaks open and Valentino stumbles in, not even looking in Vox’s direction yet. He’s clearly still drunk, but not so much that he’s beyond being able to form words, given the way he’s muttering to himself. Good. That works out perfectly for what Vox has planned.
“Had a busy night, did you?”
Val’s fur fluffs with surprise, which gives Vox a modicum of satisfaction—not enough to distract him, though. “Holy shit, Vox, do I need to put a bell on you?” He snorts. “Just sitting in the dark like a freak.”
Vox rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers, and the overhead lights flicker on. “Better?”
“You’re in a fucking mood,” Valentino remarks, raising a brow and grinning as he takes off his hat and places it on the hanger by the door. “Miss me that much, baby?”
“You clearly didn’t,” Vox mutters.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t just let those limpdicks bend you over the table and fuck you right in the middle of the club, honestly,” Vox snaps, everything he’s been holding in for the past several, intolerable hours finally breaking past the dam. “Why bother coming home at all, when you’ve got such scintillating company out there?”
“Oh, is that what this is about?” Valentino laughs, looking like the dictionary definition of unbothered, and Vox’s eye twitches. “Papi, you know those pathetic fucks don’t do anything for me—it’s funny to watch them beg, though.” Valentino grins. “Where’s your sense of humor, amor?”
“Funny?” Vox can feel himself sparking. “You really thought I’d find you letting those fuckers get their hands all over you funny? You think I’d get a little laugh out of seeing them touching what’s mine?”
“Baby, you love watching me with the whores,” Valentino says, rolling his eyes, and Vox’s fists clench so tight he nearly pierces his own palms with his claws. “It ain’t any different.”
“It is different, Val, and you know it.” Vox sneers, standing up from the couch and stalking towards his partner. “That’s you fucking them, not you getting fucked.” He knows if Velvette ever heard him say that she’d laugh in his face, rag on him for his ‘1950’s ass toxic masculinity’ or whatever she likes to call it, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a shit. There’s a difference, because… well just because there is, alright, and Valentino has been pushing his fucking buttons lately anyway.
“Green isn’t your color, Voxxy,” Valentino shoots back.
“Oh, fuck off,” Vox snarls. “It’s too late to be dealing with your attitude.”
“You are literally the one who started it,” Valentino argues, and admittedly Vox doesn’t have a proper comeback for that, which only serves to make him madder.
“Fine,” he says, “fine. You want to be a brat? I’ll treat you like one. Bend over.” He jabs a finger behind him toward the couch.
“...What?”
“I’m not asking. Bend. The fuck. Over.”
Valentino sighs dramatically but acquiesces, sauntering over and leaning over the edge of the couch. He sweeps his wings to the side, and his lack of resistance only proves that he was trying to push Vox to this point all along. The fucking slut. With his wings out of the way, the curve of his ass is exposed, barely covered by the little black skirt he knows drives Vox insane.
Vox unbuckles his belt, and Valentino’s antennae twitch at the sound of leather sliding across the fabric. He laughs, not looking back at Vox even as the TV demon folds the belt over itself and adjusts his grip.
“Gonna punish me, Daddy?” Valentino mocks, voice laced with faux cruelty. “Gonna put me in my place? You’re so fucking predictable, ba—”
Vox brings the belt down with an audible crack and Valentino yelps.
“Fucking—warn me, Vox!”
Vox sneers. “Really? Warn you? You think you deserve a warning after fucking with me like that? You had your warning, whore. We’re well past that.”
“You’re such a—fuck!” Valentino is cut off mid-sentence as the belt comes down against his ass again, Vox putting his full strength into the swing.
“You want to finish that sentence?” Vox asks.
“Oh, I got a sentence for you, motherfuuuuucking shit!” Yet again, Valentino is unable to finish his insult as the belt strikes him once more. It’s a mercy, honestly, that Vox hasn’t ripped those pretty lacy panties off him yet. Even through the fabric, though, he knows every hit has got to fucking sting.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Vox’s grin stretches wide, taking up nearly half his screen. “You know something? I was going to make you count, but I think it’s more fun if you don’t know how many I’m giving you. We’re done when I say we’re done.”
He laughs at the way Valentino’s hands dig into the couch, the moth clearly fighting the urge to shoot back something rude. He must have finally realized no amount of sass is going to distract Vox enough to get him out of this.
Again. Again. Again. Valentino lurches forward every time the belt connects—he’s strong, yes, but Vox is equally so, and the force behind each hit makes full use of that fact. He keeps cursing and moaning in turn, but he’s not trying to cuss Vox out anymore, which means the battle is pretty much won. It’s not enough, though. It’s never enough for Vox.
“Think you can be good for me, now?” He asks, and it’s a testament to how much pain Valentino can tolerate that the pimp refuses to dignify that with an answer. No matter. That’s easily solved.
Vox flips the belt over in his hand, running a claw across the metal buckle and leaving it crackling with electricity. Valentino looks back, likely confused by the pause in Vox’s strikes, and his eyes widen in realization just as Vox brings the belt down, lower this time, the metal hitting the vulnerable bare skin of his thighs.
Valentino jerks like Vox has struck him with a live wire, a gurgling sound somewhere between a moan and a scream escaping him. His knees nearly give out, all four arms holding on for dear life against the couch in order to keep himself upright. His head falls forward and Vox can see the drool trailing down his chin.
“Fucking answer me when I ask you something, bitch.” Vox uses his free hand to press his claws into the meat of Valentino’s thigh and shocks him again.
“C-can’t,” Valentino slurs, “can’t remember the… question.”
Vox scoffs. “A little shock fucked you up that much?”
Valentino mutters something incoherent, pushing his hips back toward Vox’s hand. Vox laughs, giving his ass a hard slap before pulling back and switching to the belt again. Valentino moans and whines and drools with every hit.
Vox alternates between electrified strikes with the buckle and ones with only the leather randomly, so that Valentino can’t possibly guess at a pattern and brace for it. He’s practically limp now, legs trembling in those ridiculously high heels and his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
“I’ll ask again, then, baby,” Vox says. “Are you going to pull that shit again?”
“No.” Valentino’s voice cracks and Vox’s grin grows razor-sharp.
“No what, you filthy fucking slut?”
“No, Daddy,” Valentino sobs, finally breaking. “I won’t do it again.”
“Why should I believe you, hm?” Vox taunts, and cracks the belt across Valentino’s ass again despite the pleading. Valentino’s breathing is ragged as he claws at the fabric of the couch.
“I don’t—I can’t—I promise, I won’t do it, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I’m all yours, please, Daddy, please, I can’t take anymore!”
Vox yanks Valentino’s head back and relishes in the sight of the humiliated tears streaking down his face.
“Poor thing,” he croons mockingly. “Poor, desperate Tino. I’ll make it better, baby.”
Vox drops the belt and slides his hands across Valentino’s ass, pushing his skirt up further and dipping between his legs. His panties are absolutely soaked. Vox runs a finger down the center of them, pressing the wet fabric against Valentino’s folds, smirking at the debauched whine the action draws out. Then without warning he hooks his claw into them and rips the delicate fabric apart, exposing Valentino’s dripping cunt and cock.
“Oh, fuck,” Valentino moans.
“I still don’t know if you deserve this,” Vox says, even as he slides a finger into Valentino’s pussy. “But you look so pathetic, I guess I’ll be nice.” He adds a second finger, and the ease of it makes Vox’s cock twitch. “You’re so fucking wet, Val, damnit.” He spreads his fingers wide and Valentino keens.
“Yes, yes, oh, shit, give it to me,” Valentino says, arching his back and pushing his ass toward Vox’s fingers. “It’s just for you, Voxxy, see? I’m fucking soaked and it’s all for you.”
Vox feels his screen glitch for a second. That’s what he’s been waiting to hear all night. “Damn right it is, baby. No one else can fuck you like me. No one else is getting near this cunt, you hear me? This is mine, Val.”
“Yours,” Valentino whimpers. “Papi, please fuck me.”
Vox lets his fingers inside Valentino spark and relishes in the choked wail it earns him. “Be patient or you’re getting the belt again.” He pushes in a third finger and curls them upward, hissing and palming himself through his pants when Valentino clenches around him.
Valentino groans but doesn’t protest, only rocks his hips backward like a good little whore. Vox fingerfucks him until he can no longer ignore his own aching cock. He removes his fingers, which causes an obscenely wet sound. He sticks them in his mouth and sucks, savoring the taste of Valentino’s arousal.
Valentino looks back, face stained with tears and his ruined eyeliner. “I need it, Daddy,” he whines. “I need it so bad.”
“I told you to be patient,” Vox scolds, even as he unzips his pants and pulls out his dick, shuddering as he wraps a hand around himself. He doesn’t bother taking anything off all the way—he’s already got Valentino right where he wants him, and he certainly doesn’t feel like waiting any longer. “You’re going to take exactly what I give you.”
He pushes deep into Valentino’s cunt in one swift thrust, groaning at the tightness and warmth. Valentino cries out, his wings fluttering slightly from where they’re pushed to the side. As Vox begins to move, he grabs at Valentino’s thin waist, pulling him back against him with every thrust, wanting to fill up his lover as completely as he physically can.
Whatever Valentino says next is incomprehensible, distorted by his gasps and moans as he lets Vox use him like a doll. It takes significant effort to get Valentino into this state, pliant and whimpering and perfectly submissive, but it’s beyond worth it. All Vox’s frustrations from the day melt away as he fucks Valentino hard, trailing his fingers over the darkening bruises on that pretty little ass. Sinners heal quickly, but these will at least last through the night, and just the thought of Valentino waking up with proof of Vox’s claim still upon him makes him shudder.
There will always be a part of Valentino that Vox will have to share, but not this. Never this. He leans down and presses messy, open-mouthed kisses to the skin of Valentino’s back, unable to resist even though this is still, technically, supposed to be a punishment. Whatever. He can indulge if he wants to.
It’s not long before Valentino begins to squirm, clearly trying to grind against the couch, and Vox pulls him back, denying him the relief. He’s going to come when Vox allows it, or not at all.
“Vox,” Valentino gasps, whining in protest, “touch me.”
“That’s not how you ask for things,” Vox says, trying to keep his voice steady as he rapidly approaches his own release, his vents whirring with the effort to keep his systems from overheating. “You can do better than that.”
And oh, does Valentino rise to that challenge. He arches his back further, craning his head around to stare through lowered lashes at Vox, mouth open as he pants and drools. “I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you, papi, please let me come.”
“Good enough,” Vox concedes, and wraps his hand around Valentino’s cock, pumping slowly. Even with such a measured pace, though, it barely takes more than a few more thrusts for Valentino to reach his peak.
Valentino sobs as he finally comes, and Vox knows they’re going to have this damn couch deep cleaned with the way both Valentino’s cock and pussy gush with release. The heat and slickness of it pulls Vox into his own orgasm, and he shoves his dick into Valentino as deep as possible, spilling inside him and imagining that he could keep it there forever, a permanent claim over what belongs to him and him alone.
For a moment, Valentino simply stays where he is, draped over the side of the couch as he tries to steady his breathing. Vox isn’t much more composed himself, groaning when he finally pulls out and sees the filthy mess of cum that drips out of Valentino’s pussy.
After taking a moment to simply admire the view, he tucks himself back into his pants, grimacing at the stickiness but able to deal with it for the time being. Valentino will likely need some assistance even making it to the bed after all that, so a change of clothes can wait.
Valentino groans and finally stands up, stretching his arms above his head and wincing. “Damn, you really were pissed, weren’t you? I’m not going to be able to sit down tomorrow.”
He takes a step forward and his legs visibly tremble with the effort, so Vox scoops him up into his arms bridal style. Valentino giggles and runs a finger across the bottom of Vox’s screen affectionately.
“You’re so fucking hot when you’re jealous, papi,” Valentino says. “Love it when you go all angry CEO on me. I know you’re always watching, so you should know all that shit—it’s really for you.”
Vox would be lying if he said those words didn’t make him feel embarrassingly sappy, but he shoves it down and feigns nonchalance. “There’s easier ways to get me to dom you than trying to make me jealous.”
“Sure, but the way I do it is more fun.”
Vox rolls his eyes and chooses to let that slide. “Whatever, babe. You need a shower.”
“Nooooo,” Valentino whines. “Too tired. I’ll do it in the morning.”
“No, because if you wait till morning you’ll be all cranky and we’ll have to wash the sheets.” Vox kisses his cheek. “How about if I join you? Would that help?”
“I guess,” Valentino sighs, but the grin on his face gives him away.
Vox laughs and pulls him in for a proper kiss, knowing that this, too, is all his.