Work Text:
The day has already been a write-off.
It's one of those days when you just cannot bring yourself to do anything other than rot on the couch and doomscroll endlessly. Your back will absolutely be screaming at you come morning, pissed at you for your poor posture, but as previously mentioned, you're too tired to care or move.
And you've been here all day anyway, so moving now won't really matter in the end.
The apartment is chilly, which is normally how you like it, but your fatigue has made you overly sensitive to it. Now, you're not much more than a creature beneath a swath of quilts and blankets. All soft velour and plush velvet, none of that sherpa bullshit. When you'd officially moved into V-Tower, Vox had ensured all your furnishings were to your taste. Gift giving, read buying affection, was certainly one of his love languages. God knows the fucker could never communicate in a normal way.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
The pixels burst and flare with color as you endlessly change the channel, looking for something, anything that sparks your interest. You're not going to be able to rest otherwise, fingers already itching to toss the remote into the giant TV up against the floor-to-ceiling windows. What a mess that would be.
A glance at the corner of the screen reveals that it's already past 10 pm, meaning that Vox is late again. Obviously, he has shit to do. Obviously, you know that. And obviously, you guys aren't…labeled or official. And that's fine! But is a little consistency such a big ask? Or even just sticking to a pre-determined time?
This wasn't you getting attached. It wasn't. You just wanted to see him. He was…you enjoyed being around him.
In more ways than one.
A smile tugs at the corner of your lip as you imagine him, high up in his office, shock.wav swimming below him somewhere, that giant water puppy. It was crazy how affectionate a demon cyborg shark was, I mean, he let you hand-feed him! And he was gentle about it! Vox had been having the demonic equivalent of a panic attack the entire time, ready to swoop in if shock.wav decided to go rogue, but he didn't.
"Told you I'm good with animals." You'd said, smug in your being right.
All you got was a relieved huff and roll of his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, you're going to fucking kill me one of these days."
You'd pestered Vox about him a few times, and he seemed more than happy to indulge your questions, clearly fascinated and knowledgeable on the subject. It was…almost cute.
It was completely understandable. There was a special that you watched religiously when you were alive, and while it didn't focus on sharks, it did focus on the ocean. The deep ocean, creatures that may as well be alien to humans, creatures that looked Lovecraftian in design, creatures like the fucking 'vampire squid from hell'. Shock.wav would honestly fit right in with that motley crew.
That's what you want to watch, you realize. A calming hour of beautiful fish and narration, and turning your brain off.
Perfect. Problem solved. Vox had told you he got a few human channels; surely you'd be able to find it somewhere? When you were alive, you could find anything on the internet, from obscure TV series to free sheet music to obscure history facts long since forgotten by most other people.
So begins your hunt.
You check-
No, they don't have it.
Well, what about-
Nope, not them either.
Not that one.
Nope.
Nope, again.
Try another.
Not available.
Not available.
Not available.
Fucking not available.
Now you want to throw the remote for an entirely different reason.
And you do, right at the wall next to your front door. Which, coincidentally, is open. Vox is standing in the doorway, frozen, almost looking…nervous? As though he's in trouble.
"Uh…honey, I'm home?" Is his poor attempt at a joke. All he gets is an eye roll and a grunt.
Walking further into your space, he engages in one of his other love languages: placating and apologizing.
"Look, I know I'm late, I wish I could've texted, but the meeting ran over and I couldn't-"
"Oh my god, I wasn't throwing the remote at you."
That stops him dead in his tracks, "You weren't?"
"No, idiot." But there's no bite in your words, your anger fading to frustration and annoyance.
His brows pinch together as his shoulders untense, happy not to be the target of your ire, but confused as to your mood. Claws pull at his bowtie and shed his coat, placing it on one of your kitchen stools. They deftly undo a few of his buttons and roll up the sleeves of his shirt to showcase his forearms and god, even in your tired and pissy mood, you can't help but oogle him…just a little.
Dress shoes clack against the wood floor (it took a lot of begging on your part for him to install it over the tile he used everywhere else, but you had him wrapped around your finger, tighter than either of you would admit), until he's standing in front of you and you're staring at his shoes. It's a bit childish, your behavior, but again, it's just one of those days.
He's tall. He's so fucking tall it's unfair, tall enough that when you're sitting, the tips of his fingers just about reach your cheek. Ever attuned to you and what you like, much as you both would deny it, his claws, ever so gently, graze over your cheek, down to your chin, pulling your face up to look at him.
Vox is not…soft. At least, not all the time. The two of you have been…something, for a long time. Most of the time, he's brash and cocky and the showman you've come to know.
But sometimes, usually when it seems you've had a rough day, another side of him shows. Something human, kind, gentle. It's a rarity, and too much of it would smother you.
And still…
Sometimes it was exactly what you needed. And so when his palm cradles your cheek, you lean into it, nuzzling against his skin and claws, eyes drifting closed, unable to meet his gaze.
"What's bothering my girl, hm?" His voice is low, gravely, and sincere. Fuck.
He always knows exactly what to say.
In the time you've known him, you've come to realize all of the tells that indicate the era he was born in. And sure, a lot of men from those decades were pieces of shit, and Vox certainly isn't a saint, but one thing's for certain: he hated seeing the women he cared about upset. You'd only cried in front of him once before, and he'd been so disturbed and affected that he'd dropped to his knees before you and held you oh so delicately, promising he would fix whatever was wrong and eviscerate whoever it was that might've hurt you.
You sigh deeply and exhale some of your anger, "It's silly, Vox. Not that big of a deal."
"You're no delicate flower, doll. If it's bothering you, it's not something silly." There's mirth in his voice. Teasing, but not malicious. And he was right.
"You're going to laugh."
"Probably, but then I'll fix it for you." That gets you to crack your eyes open, a wry smile spreading across your face. He's smiling softly at you, eyebrows raised, eyes lidded, tired and amused and so human it hurts. When you don't answer right away, he bends down, elbows resting on his knees, hand still against your cheek, now eye to eye with you, eyebrows barely pinched, just a pixel or two.
"Come on, tell me." No hypnosis required, his voice alone makes you want to spill your guts.
"I've just," you start abruptly before you chicken out, "had one of those days where nothing sounds appealing. Like…all I can do is lie here and rot and waste the day, and nothing I wanted to watch or was interested in was on, and I…finally remembered something that sounded fun and I can't fucking find it anywhere, and I got so frustrated after looking that I threw the remote…" It feels better having said it, but you also hear how ridiculous it sounds. Vox was running a goddamn media empire monopoly, and he was listening to you whining about not finding the TV show you wanted? Pathetic.
"Laugh if you want, go ahead, it's silly." You fix him with a withering stare, ready to take whatever mockery he has in store for you.
He chuckles once, twice, then his thumb is caressing your cheekbone, "That's all, baby? Why didn't you just text me? I could've found it for you."
You blink, "I didn't want to bother you. And I'm…not used to not being able to find something. It was practically my superpower when I was alive."
He breathes in deep and tilts his head at you. "Scoot over," is all the warning you get before he's slotting himself next to you on the couch, pulling you against his chest, and rearranging your numerous blankets around you.
"What's it called?"
"It's an earth show."
"I didn't ask where it's from, I asked what it's called?"
Well then…
"It was a BBC special, Blue Planet, Creatures of the Deep." Interest flickers on his face as he looks at you, mouth quirked up in a subconscious smile, eyes widening in a way that makes him look…younger. They look up and to the right, as if in thought, and you can see a little loading circle in the bottom right corner as he looks through some media library somewhere.
"David Attenborough narrates?"
"Yeah, that's the one." You slot yourself against his chest, warmth bleeding through his half-open dress shirt. His hand comes up to his face, makes a grabbing motion, and throws a bolt of electricity at the TV.
The first few seconds of the intro play, and suddenly you are home. Watching this in your living room, sitting way too close to the screen, oohing and ahing over the creatures swimming across your screen.
"Told you I could fix it." His arm tightens around your shoulders, fingers absent-mindedly skimming over your bare skin, not covered by the blanket. You turn to him and give him a smug smile.
"My hero." You coo, before planting a kiss on the corner of his screen. It leaves a little pink glow that you've come to recognize as some sort of physiological response his programming has to you. It fades quickly, but you see it. You always see it.
"Yeah, yeah, hush up and watch your show." He bristles, trying to push your attention back to the screen and off of him. You're quiet for a few moments, pondering.
Before you can think better of it, you sit up slightly, bringing your fingers to the corner of his face, tilting his face towards you.
"Thank you, Vox." Just three words, and yet they convey so much. Earnest and sincere, and a depiction of your heart on a platter. Just for him.
He visibly softens again, melts a little further into you, into this…other side of himself, reserved only for you. The look you share is full of unsaid declarations that neither of you will voice for fear of it being real. But it's enough for now. His other hand comes back to your cheek, stroking it softly again, and then he's kissing the top of your head and tucking you into his side, where you fit perfectly.
"Anything for my girl."
God, you love it when he calls you that.
"You know you don't have to watch it with me, right?" You say half-heartedly, you both know that's not true. You're out of sorts, and he was late, so yeah, he does have to.
"Yeah, but you know I love this shit." You know that's not the full story, but you don't pry. You never push.
"I know. I actually only remembered this because you let me feed Shock.wav last week."
He huffs at the memory, "Oh yeah?"
"Mhm. Was thinking about how he looked like some of these creatures and remembered they talked about the Greenland shark in this one." You smile wider, like the cat that got the cream. You got him hook, line, and sinker now. It's funny, you can actually feel him lock in beside you.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. It lives so close to the ocean floor and can grow longer than great whites." His hold tightens around you, and he settles into the couch, fully committing to this with you.
"You're amazing, you know that?"
"I know. Now shush, I wanna watch."
By the time the segment is over, and David is talking about hot chemical soup spewing out of the volcanic vents, your eyes are heavy, and you're all but asleep. Vox, ever the attentive partner, hoists you into his arms as though you weigh nothing at all and walks you to your bedroom. He places you on the bed, pulling the blankets around you as you settle. In seconds, he's discarded his work clothes and climbed in behind you. He can spare a few hours here with you before he has to get back to work.
As soon as he's under the covers, you subconsciously seek his warmth. He's always warm. Your head fits perfectly in between his head and shoulder, his opposite arm encircling you both.
This is something now. It has been for a long time. Someday soon, you'll both have to reckon with that. But for now, you're both content to watch more specials about fish and sharks and revel in the gentle company you both give to each other.