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Velvette poses in front of the mirror, sandals scuffing in the sand strewn across the floor. “Summer's here, bitches! First look at my new swimsuit line!”
She maintains her grin for all of two seconds, before her eyes dip from the reflection of her face to the seam of the joint in her torso. Well, she was the one who wanted to wear a bikini again. It's cute! Her favorite shade of purple, chibi skulls right over the tits, what's not to love?
The model, maybe. Ugh. Velvette rolls her eyes.
She stops the recording and deletes the video without review, shoving her phone into her bag between the towels. Who needs a dressing room reel anyway? She'll get better footage on the beach.
There's a knock at the door, and Valentino's voice on the other side. “Come out, baby doll! Last one out of the dressing room has to carry all our shit!” They did not tell her that rule. She just assumes it's gonna be Vox who carries everything, like he always does.
Fuck it. Velvette snatches up her bag and bursts out the door, nearly bowling Val over. “I saw what you packed, no way am I lugging that shit around. We aren't even here for a full day, you fuck.”
“I have needs,” he says simply, leaning against the wall, too casual. Definitely showing off, and yeah, he looks hot. He always does. Velvette designed a two-piece suit for him, one that accounted for all the arms and exposed way more skin than it covered.
Val flaunts himself with a confidence she can't seem to emulate. She just needs to look cooler than Vox, which won't be hard. King of the nerds himself shuffles out of the dressing rooms next, attention on the phone in his hands and not on the judgmental looks being cast his way.
She made his swim trunks as masc as he likes, with abstract zigzags reminiscent of his logo. He, however, is the one who chose to wear a shark print shirt over it.
“The fuck?” she says, waving over him. Vox. Ugh.
“What?” he glances up at her, distracted.
“Last one out!” Val crows, nearly hitting him in the face with the force he throws his beach bag.
“Ow! Fucker, why did you-”
But “Beach rules!” is all Val will explain as he races away. Velvette barks a laugh and follows, after shoving her own bag at Vox. They leave him cursing and fumbling to catch up, as they sprint across the sand. They must look ridiculous to every other beach goer. She reminds herself not to meet anyone's eyes.
Velvette stops long enough to take her sandals off, so she can catch up to Val's longer strides. “Oi! Where're we parking?”
Val throws his arms wide, circling a wide, empty spot in the sand, every other visitor far enough away it almost feels private. “This is us!” he chirps.
When Vox catches up to them, he immediately starts harassing them about sunscreen. Sunburns must still be a thing in hell. The day is scorching, but there's a nice breeze. Velvette drops herself onto her towel and lounges, eyes closed, half-listening as Vox coaxes Val into letting him apply the lotion.
“You just want to get your hands all over me, papí,” Val concludes.
“Yes Val,” Vox monotones. “I can't wait to grope your ass. Let me at it.”
Actually, Valentino stretching and purring while Vox rubs him down makes for a lovely view. Velvette pulls her phone out again, angling so they're all in the shot, and tries again. “Beach party with the hottest Overlords in town!”
She flips the bird, a proper two-fingered salute, and laughs. Let their followers feast on how hot Val looks, how well those trunks show off Vox's ass -
How exposed the seams in her arms are, double ball joint of one elbow bending just within frame.
She deletes this video, too.
Vox starts in on her. “Don't think you're excused, either! Hell's sun is no joke!”
“All right, dad,” she says, so much more sarcastic than Val. “I don't need it.” She scrolls her feed, checking to see if anyone else has sneaked a pic of them. There's enough people on this beach someone might leak the new outfits before she does. Get a grip, girl.
Her phone dings, and then starts playing a clip about the importance of UV protection. The fuck? When the speaker starts talking about melanin, she nearly chucks her phone at the nearest TV.
Which is Vox, of course. Velvette snaps, “What the hell! That's not what I'm talking about. I'm fucking plastic, remember?” She's a doll, always has been. Mommy's little pageant princess upstairs, and very literally a doll since she woke up down here one year ago.
“It's not plastic,” Vox says, but he lets the video stop playing. “You have the same skin as me, see?”
He shuffles over to her, offering his hand. It's not that they haven't touched - they have - he just never lets the touch linger for long. Certainly his hands don't stray as much as his eyes. Their hands meet, palm to palm, and now that she's focusing on it, they do feel the same. Val has a thin layer of fuzz everywhere, but she and Vox have the same synthetic skin.
She can't believe she's never noticed before.
“Cancer exists here, too.”
Well. Okay, of course it would, she just hasn't thought about it. “Lemme guess: it sucks.”
“I once saw a tumor gain sentience and devour a man's brain then replace it,” Vox says, serious as death. He holds the grim line of his mouth for another moment before he cracks a grin. “He actually became so much more pleasant after that.”
“Pleasant how?”
“He stopped complaining when I stole his territory.”
Velvette nearly returns to her phone, but Vox waves the sunscreen in her face like the world's most obnoxious nag.
“Fine. You win! I'll do it myself.” She snatches the bottle from him, ignoring his smug face. The thought of his hands on her isn't unpleasant. Far from it. She just doesn't want to feel him hesitate around her joints. Bad enough she has to keep dealing with them.
“Voxxy always wins when he's in this mood,” Val says.
“What mood?” Vox asks, suspicious.
“Ohh, Val, it's been 66 days since you last drank any water. Ohh, Val, you left the oven on again. Ohh, Val-”
“These are all reasonable concerns! Fuck you!”
Their argument gives Velvette a distraction, as she rubs that lotion into her strange new skin.
While Valentino may be content to lounge on the beach and sunbathe, Velvette feels a draw to the water. Why the fuck else are they at the beach?
“Hey, Vee,” she calls Vox's attention. “There anything awful in this ocean?”
“Oh, yes.” He sounds excited. What else should she expect from a man who keeps pet sharks? Vox springs to his feet and offers a hand up. “Wanna go see?”
“I just want a dip in the water,” she says, feeling oddly like she needs to pump the brakes. Vox's smile is a hungry, jagged line as he pulls her into a light jog to the waterline.
She's seen him swim with his sharks in their giant tank and wrestle with Vark in his private pool. For whatever reason, that head of his is waterproof. Why should the ocean be any different?
His hand is warm around hers. The same skin in different shades. Their feet breach the water as the tide flows forward, a light resistance that grows easier the deeper they wade. Vox releases her just as the ebbing tide pulls them in.
The water is surprisingly cold, but in a way that feels good against the beating sun. “Your shirt's getting wet,” Velvette remarks.
“That's fine.” Vox should look ridiculous, LED screen shining above the water, but instead he looks comfortable.
“Are you part shark or what?” Velvette asks, joking.
“Yep,” Vox says.
“Wait. Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“...TV shark?”
“Yeah.”
“The fuck?”
Vox shrugs.
“How far do you want to go?” he asks.
“Right here is fine.” Velvette can still touch the sand with her toes, though just barely. The water flows just below Vox's chest, shark print clinging like a second skin. She can tell he's wearing another layer beneath, but he's never brought up the binders so she won't either.
Vox hums and scans the horizon, searching for something she can't guess. “I'm going deeper. Don't go back without me.”
“Whatever.” Velvette can't remember the last time she got to enjoy a beach. Probably not since she was a kid. She doesn't want to do any of the other typical beach activities, making sandcastles or playing volleyball or picking up shells. Just this is fine, water pushing and pulling her in a gentle sway, cool against the heat.
None of the other visitors have come near them. Velvette can't get over the idea that someone will get the jump on her fashion reveal. Social media is supposed to be her thing, it's the whole reason Vox accepted her pitch. She has to get over herself.
But she recognizes one of the sinners on the beach. They're one of her models. Velvette lets the water push her closer. No, there's a whole group of her models. And some of the geek squad who run their websites. And their new PR person, hired right after Valentino threw the last one out a window.
What the hell? She whirls, but she can't see Vox. He's probably underwater, and she'll never catch up to him. Really should've predicted he had something fishy in his hell-DNA.
Velvette storms up the beach after Valentino, then. “Val! Hey! Why is half of VoxTek here with us?”
“Hmuh?” he mumbles, so eloquent after stirring from a nap. “Qué pasa?”
She prods his ribs with her foot, none too gently. Val snarls and slaps at her legs. “Val. Every other motherfucker on this beach works for us.”
“Mm, yeah, Voxxy does that sometimes.” He settles back down with a sigh, tugging another towel over his face.
“Val!”
“What?”
“What do you mean, he does that sometimes?”
“You know.” She doesn't. Val flaps two hands vaguely. “Rents out a place, then fills it back up with our souls. Controlling the narrative or whatever.” Val chuckles fondly. “What a little freak, eh?”
“Weirdo,” Velvette agrees.
Wait. This means no one's posted before she can. No one who works for the Vees would dare.
She dives for her phone. “Valentino, give us a smile, luv.”
He flings the extra towel away, careless of where it lands. The switch from genuine lazy lounging to sexy lounging is instant, Val arching his back, sliding one arm beneath his head, another draping delicately above. He has a thumb tucked under one string on his thong, and another tracing the bottom edge of his top.
“Oh baby, get my good side,” he purrs.
He's the only one in the video this time. “You bitches wish you could look this good!” Velvette jeers. “My brand will get you at least halfway there, fuckers!”
And cut. That'll do. No one ever has to know if she struggled to make this post. She hits send before she can second guess herself, then slumps over her towel.
Fuck, why's her heart pounding? “So Vox is totally bonkers, yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Valentino agrees immediately. “He's probably out there catching something he shouldn't.”
“Like another shark?”
Val chuckles darkly. “Or worse.”
Velvette gives him a long, hard look, that he ignores by stretching out like a giant nuisance and incidentally flicking some sand her way. She eventually decides she doesn't want to waste time trying to pry more information out of Valentino.
She's got a whole damn beach to enjoy.