Chapter Text
Vox’s office was never truly quiet.
The ever present thrumming of electricity encompassed all. Every bright-white fluorescent light, every hi-def screen and speaker, powered by this life-blood so easily manipulated by the media overlord.
From high in the ceiling the steady whir of compressors were a constant companion as filtered air was continuously recycled, keeping the entire floor both cooled and meticulously spotless.
The room's statement piece, the great central aquarium, bubbled and groaned. Occasionally the looming shadow of Shok.Wav would drift by, his happy bassy notes vibrating the surrounding furniture in its place upon spotting his “parents” through the glass.
All this quiet cacophony mixed with the man himself. Tapping his glassy claws on the smooth finish of his desk, in thought or in boredom. The crisp tinkling of their sharp tips on smooth screens as he flicked through reports. The measured click of those heeled shoes on polished floors and the shift-and-catch of cotton over silk as he moved - every stitch gracing his form a genuine Velvette-original - muffled the low accompaniment of his own internal fans.
And of course, that voice. From its housing within the tangled nest of wires he called a throat, those vocal chords still vibrated - organic and fleshy - producing that vocoded dulcet sound that Val did adore.
Most of the time.
Oh how Vox was never entirely silent, laughing and huffing, tsking and groaning, raging and roaring. Smoothing over snags, commanding a room's attention, instilling fear and awe, spinning yarns, and closing deals like the devil himself.
Right now though, the room was as silent as it could be.
Val disrobed. Even that task made little sound as he let the skirt drop from his slim waist, slid his thin legs out those monstrously high heeled boots, and slowly let himself walk around to what he secretly, affectionately, thought of as his side of the bed. Well it had been almost five decades, he was allowed a little mostly harmless indulgence.
Maybe it was the lone glass ash tray, complete with custom cigarette holder, but something so mundane yet so obviously for him made his little moth heart skip a beat. Or perhaps it was the line of coke finally hitting him. Who could really say. Not him.
For a moment, he just stood and watched. Vox in almost all aspects of his un-life was animated. Entering personal space like he had a hand-written invitation to be there. Hands gesturing, touching, caressing. Feet tapping, stomping. Dancing, always so much dancing that Val adored so dearly.
But it also meant that once the ball got rolling, once Vox scented blood and took off on the hunt, he could be a right bastard to bring to heel.
His Voxxy hadn’t stopped in days. Since the confirmation that the fucking Bob-cut ass deer was back, he’d been more outgoing than usual. Not that Val disliked it, no. Not truly. Sure Vox mentioned the bastard more than Val wanted to hear at any point in his death, but the voracious sex made up for it.
So did the plotting and scheming, the three Vees all cozied up together talking about what could be, how they could squeeze every soul from the sinners of hell and sell it all back to them for profit. Oh it had been so fun in the moment, leaning into Vel as she yapped at a million miles an hour, dragging up pinboards, fashion designs, blueprints, and edits from her phone. Watching Vox’s grin grow upon his screen, nodding and laughing, slapping his knee like the old man he was.
It had been so painfully perfect. This was how it was meant to be.
Recently however, Val was beginning to find an end to that tether of his.
The obsession was worse. The little bitch of a princessa’s hotel was throwing spanner’s into the works, smothering the once clear vision they had of ruling hell, now heaven was in the cards, and sure, expansion sounded nice, but truly Val couldn’t give a fuck. As long as his position was secured, his Voxxy and Vel beside him, he was content - they had their individual specialities but together they were a marriage made in hell, the perfect threesome. The future of hell belonged to the Vees.
Plural.
It was such a drag to his creative spark so he tried to think about it as little as possible between his shoots and editing.
But Vox, apparently, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every plan, every scheme, every channel, program, paper, and print was focused on this charade, this goal of attaining heaven for the Vee’s portfolio.
Days went by, Val could wander the expanse of the tower and his studios, with not even a single camera turning his way, and find Vox up to his QDLED-projected eyeballs in a new scandal or a new spin to put on the hotel. To turn the sinners further to their collective bosom. The first few days had been cute watching Vox so happy with a new project. Now it was just getting old, fast.
The media overlord, lost to his own mania, wasn’t eating; which meant Val technically wasn’t really eating (unusually, Vox hadn’t noticed), and poor Shok.Wav was basically starving, the poor thing, only subsisting on the meals allowed by Vox himself. Did he not care that his beloved pet loved a little meaty treat or five?
Incidentally, Val knew Vox wasn’t resting at all. Either perched at his desk, or dictating to one of his lackeys - usually the meek eel-looking nerd that shook like a scared chihuahua after that hilarious car accident. Many a night Val had returned to Vox’s room only to wind up in a cold bed too large for just his own form.
Too busy to meet with Vel to review her latest social posts, too busy for him - the great fucking Valentino - to come to the penthouse and let him bitch about the talentless hacks he was whipping into shape for their next round of snuff films.
Oh no, Vox would rather obsess over that degenerate hotel, with its tacky furniture, ridiculous ambitions, and certain deer that Val wouldn’t even have above his mantle if given half a say in the matter.
With a sad chirp that was drowned out by the room's quiet percussion, Val lifted the silk sheet and turned his attention to the man beside him.
Now, Valentino had standards. With a body this perfect, a dick this good, and a reputation that high, one must have expected it. 10’s only. And yet. Something about Vox just stuck with him. Had it been his adorable little square head all them decades ago? The soft static buzz? Those ridiculously nerdy billowy-sleeved jumpers? Who knew, but it enthralled him, even before they’d waltzed the dance hall together that first time and Val had come to the rather sudden realisation that this was what dancing was meant to be.
Reclining back into his pile of plush pillows, Val let his hands wander, from the pristine bedsheets to the near motionless body.
Slowly, one could even say tenderly, Val let his fingertips wander, the gentlest brush of black against the deepest blue. Barely-there circuitry danced under his touch, over the valleys and planes of the man’s chest, the swell of his pecs, the deceptively strong core, where slim hips narrowed and his chest widened to the great span of his shoulders.
A long time ago, Vox had told him he’d swam during his time above, and Val could see that, once the ugly jumper had come off, its baggy form hiding that body beneath.
Ceasing the path of his wandering fingers, he redirected his touch, sweeping back to where Vox’s ribs would be, gently probing the seam where the synthetic skin became a more malleable flap, where his physique differed from most sinners.
Dulled metallic echoes reverberated as he let his fingers catch on each metal vent beneath, feeling the unforgiving steel, unyielding to his touch. Despite its unmoving nature, the alloy's surface was warm, hot ‘exhalations’ flowing out in an even burst against his short fur in time with the dipping of Vox’s chest.
Top of the line cooling vents, tailored to Vox’s needs and physiology. More efficient Vox had said. Val liked them well enough; they cast a gentle breeze against his sweatsoaked fur after rounds of sex, they warmed him on colder nights, he did find their ability to tell Vox’s emotion very useful to his trained ear - decades with the man did come in handy and Val knew how to read people to filth. But; he lamented; so did the original deal.
Soft and warm, those gills had been such a surprise, so receptive to the touch, so sensitive. Yet Vox had gone and chucked them away, like last season's failing show host, or a whore’s used condom. A safety risk or something he’d prattled on about, Val couldn’t be arsed to remember. Truly a crying shame in Valentino’s eyes, finding something unique was so hard these days, and they had been such a pretty, pretty blue, glowing like treasure hidden away from the world.
Once more, Val drifted in the loud silence of the room, running his hands over the Vox’s flank and letting his fingers trail as the past collided with the amphetamines in his blood stream.
-
The first time the future men of the Vees had fucked had been both decades earlier and a complete and utter accident. An ill-timed tumble in the hay that had distracted Val enough to miss the gills in the first place.
What could Val say? Seeing the glowing heads of those two dicks poking almost shyly out the open zipper of Vox’s slacks had been surprising enough in the moment. He’d just had to touch them, taste them, and so the idea of looking any higher up Vox’s hell-made form had been as fully formed a thought as the impromptu lay had been planned.
The second time, though, had been slower, more cautious, more curious. That had been when such unique biology had come to light. Quite literally in a way.
Watching the smaller man get his head stuck in that ugly-ass, yet comically endearing sweater as he’d tried to whip it off in the fog of lust had been unexpected but welcome, in Val’s opinion. A weird little icebreaker. Helping to banish whatever funk they had apparently both felt after the unscheduled first romp. That and the cute little blush overlaying Vox’s screen as the fledgling overlord had shyly looked back at Val, arms still buried in the knitted fabric, chest barely revealed. Making Val feel light headed, like he’d taken the world's most potent shot.
Settling on the bed, Val had been watching as Vox straightened, appreciating that rather gorgeous swimmer's physique until the fluttering of his sides had caught Val’s attention. Gentle ripples that peaked as Vox exhaled shakily, gaze never leaving Val.
Now that. That was different, that was new.
His brain must have been lust-drunk, because before he could speak, one of his upper arms had already reached out, barely touching the pliable skin there. Such a sudden touch had surprised Vox enough to jump back, a bright spark climbing between his mis-matched antenna. Warm, moist air rolled over Val’s still-hovering palm as the fluttering flesh there picked up speed.
“The fuck are these?” Val asked, enraptured as he watched Vox swallow, and in turn those slits in his ribcage flexed, breathing, the faintest hint of luminous cyan blue peeking out for a moment. So bright, so beautiful.
“What do you mean, ‘the fuck are these?’” The impression, Val realized, wasn’t half bad, like the TV-man's voice box had switched out, lowered its own volume, and replayed Val's voice near perfectly on top. “They’re gills, obviously.”
A moment passed, Val squinted up at Vox’s screen, at his chest, at his crotch.
“Oh, so you get a TV head, gills, and two dicks? Fucking favouritism, bastardo afortunado.”
Red eyes rolled on the screen, skipping slightly with its refresh rate. “Oh woe is fucking me, ‘I’m Valentino I got sent to hell and all I got out of it was a pair of wings, two extra arms, and big dick’.”
Val huffed and rolled his eyes in turn, or at least he hoped it looked like he was, it was hard to tell when your pupils didn’t really exist anymore.
“But I had a big dick before I died,” Val whined. From his vantage point laid out in the sheets, Vox’s gaze flickered from Val’s eyes downwards and then straight back to Val’s face, his screen buffering for a moment as a look of intense thinking crossed the CRT set. “No fair, I wanted a third cool thing too.”
“Oh Boohoo. Grow up, we’re in hell.” Vox snapped. Val pinched the gill flap, hard. Static burst across Vox’s screen as he jerked, pulling Val’s hand where he refused to relinquish his hold, though he did loosen his grip.
“Soooo, how do they work?” Val enquired, still holding the gill flap aloft, watching the bright blue vessels beneath flex and relax, that genuine curiosity now superseding the lust-filled haze that once blanketed his mind. In time, he would learn that asking such a question around a certain sharp-toothed creature would begin a torrent that was hard to end. But this had been the first time, and the wide-eyed look Vox suddenly sported made Val’s heart swoop ever so slightly, like he’d missed a step in his heels, or had one too many LSD tabs. Ridiculously endearing.
“Well, sharks are chondrichthyes, elasmobranchii to be exact, which you - you know - should be!” Inching down Vox’s body, Val nodded absentmindedly, antennas brushing gently across Vox’s screen. The slight hint of static there made the delicate hairs tingle, the charge causing the soft strands to dance. “Unlike most fish they have multiple gills and no bony cover to protect them.”
Humming, Val indicated some level of attention, even as the words did a pretty pirouette in his drugged-and-lust fueled brain only to then leave again. But, he couldn’t help but bask in the confidence the man had in his words, the ebb and flow of his cadence, the sudden spark of joy as he continued his ramblings, almost forgetting Val was about to try and rock his world in an all new way.
What could Val say; he did like confidence.
“The blood vessels run countercurrent to the water flowing through the shark's mouth, giving them the best diffusion gradient for oxygen extraction.”
“Yeah, yeah, currants, raisins, whatever, could you hold still for a moment, amoricito?”
Again, Val let his upper hands wander closer to the gill vents, whilst his lower hands carefully petted the overlord's slim waist, his corded thighs, relishing the feel of all that compact power. They could have been going back at it like jackrabbits by now, but truly this was much more tantalising.
Again, Vox shied away just moments before Val could examine, explore, with talented fingertips.
“Have you… you know?” Val gestured vaguely, once more bringing his hands close to Vox’s flanks.
Quick as a flash, one of Vox’s hands ensnared Val’s wrist. Large palms, larger claws, now wasn’t that a delicious combination. Vox’s face was less than impressed when Val finally tilted his head up to meet his screen. “What? Tried touching them?”
Another pupil-less eye roll. God Vox was being so dense. “Well, duh?
“What do you think? Of course I have, it's been like 25 years, you think I just ignored them all this time? Do you know how long it took me to find shirts with breathable fabric for these fuckers? Too long!” Val glanced at the man's flat expression, to his discarded clothing, and back again. Really, he needed to search for even longer if this endearingly tacky mess was what he had found, poor baby.
“Well what does it feel like to you usually?” Val mused, head resting on Vox’s thigh, tilted in thought. “Ooo! Do they feel nice? Are they soft? Do they feel.. Good? Hmm?”
A grin, full of sharp teeth spread along Val’s face as he imagined the kind of pleasure such features could give. Oh how he was jealous of such self-inflictable fun… except as he glanced back up, Vox’s screen showed nothing but flat neutrality.
“I mean, can you tickle yourself?” The overlord questioned, one claw coming up to idly spin around Val’s left antenna. The right twitched involuntarily at the low burn of arousal that followed each spin around Vox’s glassy claws.
Val thought for a moment, eyes blinking one after another, before he gasped. “What?! No of cours-Oh! Oh. Like, that’s a raw deal. All the hardware and none of the fun, hmm? You can’t really tickle yourself, true, there’s no anticipation! No unknown factors, no waiting for the knife to drop, something you need a partner fo-”
Feedback split the room as blue bloomed across Vox’s screen for but a second.
“A partne- pa- like a…” the words torrented out the overlords mouth in a way that piqued Valentino’s attention, antenna peeking up. What an odd reaction. Something to file away for later. Val sat back for a moment, watching the man seemingly pull himself from whatever tizzy he had started to spin himself into.
“Tell you what Voxxy, why don’t we explore this together hmmm? I’m sure my ‘expertise’ can come in real handy here. I do love a new experience.”
Val watched the man closely. Even blurred over the top of his glasses, Vox’s posture stiffened, before loosening, like someone was un-ratcheting a tensioned cable. Everyone loved a bit of pleasure, and this new source was pristine. Something to add to the future film overlords repertoire.
With a final curt nod, Vox relented, and Val dove in, eyes locked on his new target.
“Just, you know, go gentl-WHAT THE FUCK, VAL?!”
Not even a proper chance to play and already Val’s head was snapped back, Vox’s glassy claws heaving both antennas upward to bring the moth screen-to-face. The younger sinner’s eyes were wide as saucer, long probing tongue still lolling out past sharp teeth, nestled deep into the slippery realm of the gills even with his head brought all the way up Vox’s body. Static danced across Val’s tastebuds. A buzz settling even deeper into his veins, causing the very tip of his tongue to curl, hard and fast, cinching around the smooth tendrils there.
Feedback spluttered through the tangle of wires around Vox’s vocoder. Snowy static passed across Vox’s screen, red eyes and blue tone disappeared for a millisecond as several things happened in quick succession.
Muscles spasmed below Val, the soft blood vessels flinching back in one rippling movement, hot air panting over his stomach and chest in heavy, humid waves. The chest below him heaved like it had run a marathon, swam a mile, each gill pumping like a bellow. Something else dripped against Val’s tongue, not his usual saliva, this was even more viscous, yet silky and slick, adding a metallic bite to his senses.
Val grinned, a thick sheen of near-translucent blue swirled with pink coating his lips as his tongue retracted past his teeth. “Fuck, papi, we are doing that again.”
Below Val’s hands, the gill arches quivered, and his tongue went pleasantly numb once more.
It was whilst probing the soft, fleshy lamella that Val found his next prize. A true slip of the tongue.
The mucus, pleasantly tingling his palette and soaking the short fur of his face as it slipped down the length of probing muscle, had numbed Val’s tongue just enough that it drooped, only to catch on something unexpected. Another pleasantly soft layer, gently quivering, even slipperier than what it had just been nestled in.
Pulling back once more, Val wasn't sure if it was the lidocaine like effect of Vox’s secretions, or the shock, but his jaw surely dropped. His tongue, its probing tip, hung out the lower vent, curling in time with Vox’s heaving chest. Out through another hole, here he was hooked inside the man.
Vox’s moan, muffled through clamped palms, thundered through his prone body, causing each gill arch to convulse, Val’s tongue to spasm sweetly, and for a fresh burst of thick, wet heat to gush over the edge of each slit.
The bedding was beyond saving. Not that Val had any intention whatsoever to keep the place in order when he’d dragged Vox here. Not when the jelly-like mucus was oozing from each gill, trailing in slow, lazy waterfalls into pools on the sheets darkening the material, glistening in the light.
Pulling back one of his lower hands, the viscous liquid trailed after his fingertips, stretching into strands before breaking. Val couldn't suppress the shiver that rippled through him, a fiery trail of arousal following the same path.
His gaze zeroed in higher up the bed to Vox’s head, hands no longer clamped over his mouth. Now, his head was tossing and turning, the sound of cheap low thread cotton against plastic.
And here the baby overlord had been complaining about the gifts hell had bestowed upon him.
Val wanted to kiss whatever higher being had judged this pent-up, old man in death, really go sloppy style on Vox’s infernal judge for granting this most inspired feature. Maybe he should be thanking Vox for being such a shark obsessed freak.
“Fuck Val, Why are yo- Are you… ugh? Are you good?” The questioning tone pulled Val from the lusty hazy of his thoughts, confusing him for a moment. He’d just opened a new realm of pleasure to the man and he was asking Val if he was doing good? Val’s.. Val’s fucking great!
A squeak escaped him, high and sharp, and he watched as Vox’s brows softened at the noise. It was almost sweetly endearing in a fucked up way except for some reason, the man’s body was shadowed in a pink halo, his screen now lighting the planes of his body with its soft blue glow more than the shitty lighting had. Had such tender play been so intense that the man had blown the bulbs? No, he would have heard that surely?
“Is this like a threat display? I mean, you’re already a pretty tall guy.. I.. Umm…” Vox's voice trailed to soft static, the barest hint of a moan creeping into the sound as he looked past Val, over his shoulder, a line of cyan burning across his screen. Brow furrowed, Val followed the line of his sight back over.
Oh. That’s why.
The span of his wings filled most of the bedroom, the white-and-black curls of fluff brushing against the bare walls, swallowing the space and eclipsing the shitty bulb hanging from the ceiling. He doesn't even remember opening them. Stupid things have a mind of their own sometimes. Like if he edges for a really long time, or he has a pretty good fantasy going or… oh.
“-lintino? VAL!” The warp of the vocoder pulls Val out of his realization, wings only dipping slightly as Vox’s claws had twisted round the golden chain between his nipples and tugged. Pulled closer to the man’s screen, the wave of lust made each pixel shine brighter, the gradient of that blush looking even prettier this close.
Val wondered, lust-addled, if he could make the man blush deeper. He wondered, possessively, if he could be the one to burn the cyan glow of those pixels into that screen permanently.
Like playing the wetted rim of a wine glass, Val let his slick finger tip trail the thinnest edge of the gill, feather light, barely there. Like the whisper of a breath, the suggestion of a breeze.
Pressure was a hell of a way to keep a man dancing on a knife’s edge. Most wanted harder, deeper, to feel a crushing weight, a real solid form towering over them, pinning them, clamping them. But Val knew the power of restraint, of moderation in the throes of pleasure, of taking away only to give back ten-fold at the opportune moment.
With just these softest of touches, Vox moaned, broken and raw. Claws sunk into cheap hotel linen. Val continued his gossamer assault, barely tracing the outer arches, keeping his fingers slick with that silky substance before letting his hand reach back under the gill flap to ensnare those cyan strands. The TV in the corner of the room flickered, the light above flashed a sodium-yellow warning, punctuated with the crackle of static.
Carefully, Val cupped a hand, marvelling at just how much of his palm fit into the space there, and allowed the substance to pool, warm and jelly-like. Vox’s expression, as the hand was removed, teetered on the knife edge of outright disgust and lust-tinged curiosity.
With a cheeky wink, and a sharp-toothed grin, Val slipped his way down Vox’s form to those delightful dicks, still hard and leaking at their glowing tips. In one smooth motion, Val sheathed his hand around the shafts, letting the slick ooze between them as he immediately set a blistering pace.
“Ew, what the actual fuck Val, that’s disgusti- oh that’s- fuck, that tingles, oh fuck, fu-” A thigh spasmed, knocking against Val’s planted lower hand.
“Keep talking.” The words left Val's lips before his brain could catch up. But fuck he wanted to just hear the mans voice, all excitable, stimulated, confident, sexy.
“Abo- Satan’s taint, that's intense, about what?!”
“The fucking… Currants! The elastic thing!” Val slowed his pace, loosened his grip on the two shafts, letting some brain cells flow back north to that giant TV head of Vox’s.
“Elasti?… Elasmobranchii, it's Elas-mo-bran-chii.” Vox panted, hips pistoning up, punctuating his statement on their own accord into the waiting tunnel of Val’s slick fist. Each spine caught against Val’s palm, now blanketed by the silken fluid, pre-cum mixing and making the make-shift lube thinner.
Another lick of lust rolled through Val’s brain, buoying him, claiming him again as Vox just continued to yap.
Words cascaded around Val, intertwining with the squelching of skin as Vox’s tips peeked through his fist with each thrust, threading through the heavier wheezes between breaths as Vox’s gills shuddered, Val's upper hands stroking the seam of every slit in turn.
Fuck he should get him to read a script, a novel, a encyclopedia, a damn dictionary.
People would fucking love this shit.
Val was people.
Win fucking win.
The crescendo arrived quicker than Val wanted, so thoroughly engrossed in his masterpiece. He almost didn't notice at first, but that the thing about being a moth demon - he was drawn to bright light.
It started as a background thing, just out the corner of his eyes. Sure he can’t see shit most of the time, but light? Now that captivated, swayed, put him in a trance not even a few tabs of the good DMT could.
Even through the thin skin of his eyelids as he concentrated on the task at hand… hands, the world outside his little bubble was growing lighter. Slowly at first, until light pink was all encompassing. Vox bit off another moan, hips spasming erratically, dicks pulsing in tandem within Val’s palm. The brightness ratcheted up another notch in turn.
As muscles contracted under his palms, Val pulled back, eyes open now. He needed this, to see the man come undone by this new sensation, catalogue it against their last bout. What differences there would be, what new sounds, new motions.
Vox’s back arched. Taut muscles rippled as his lower stomach convulsed and the light - from that lone hanging bulb and the ugly bedside lamp, to the large CRT tv in the corner playing endless muted commercials - burned brighter than a supernova.
Glass shattered, sparks fell like blazing stars, a screen blew out with a bang, gill arches clenched tight, and Vox gasped as ropes of white striped the blue of his chest and stomach, the black fur of Val’s fingers. One final wave of thick slick oozed from Vox’s gills. Val’s fingertips buzzed where they lay draped across the gill flaps, raising and falling. Hot breath rolled against his arms as Vox gasped, swallowing down lungfuls of air as his screen flickered intermittently, blue sparks jumping between each antenna, now almost ram-rod straight.
Beautiful. He was absolutely beautiful. Bright blue, glowing in the middle of the ruined sheets. A heady rush flooded Val’s body. A new experience, theirs alone. How… saccharine. Yet, he didn’t want the sweetness to fade.
“That was….” Val probed, eyes wide as seemingly Vox chewed on his new experience, breath still slowly levelling out.
“That was…. Good….”
Val raised an imaginary eyebrow, a slight squeak escaping him. A panicked spark jumped between Vox’s antenna, the bright snap of light illuminating Val’s form briefly in the near darkness.
“More! More than good, but fuck that’s… that’s a lot. Maybe too much, this isn’t great optics if it gets out, too accessible, too strategically weak, I’ll have to look into this late-“
Val pulled him by the wide span of his shoulders, watching Vox’s eyes widen in surprise before lidding as his own cyan tongue entangled with neon pink.
He may love the sounds of Vox’s voice but sometimes, he needed to shut the man up.
-
Coming back to himself, Valentino shifted, feeling the pleasant ache between his thighs, the gentlest brush of the soft sheets against the head of his dick, the slight catch of each piercing along its shaft trapped against his weight and the mattress as his hips flexed.
Memories, some truly did stay with him. A damned shame really that Vox had, over the decades, stuck to his promise of replacing such squishy vulnerabilities with steel and circuitry.
What had he once said? Brighter, sharper, newer.
Under the glow of the tank, filtered blues dancing with ribbons of ripping light, Val once more purposefully, slyly walked his fingers down the slope of Vox’s pec to that first gill vent. Lingering for a moment in the warm air circulating from the lower, metallic scrubbers, he ever so slowly let his fingertip lift the synthetic skin there to reveal his secret prize.
Something Vox kept well hidden. Something Valentino was certain, Vox had kept for him alone.
Soft, warm, fleshy, wetness caressed the pad of his finger, a sensation so familiar yet so rare. Val had indulged in ass, pussy, mouths, and cavities most would never think of plundering, but this. Well, this was a treat, a privilege so rare he thanked his lucky stars even down here in the depths of hell. Hell, he’d thank Vox if it wouldn’t give the man’s ego a stroke so hard he’d probably cum on the spot. (That, Val thought, would be for a later date, no need to play his hand so soon, they had decades, centuries more to play.)
Again, he carefully brushed the rows of bright blue lamaella, feeling each bend and give from the gentle pressure. He could get lost in this, just a single digit combing through. He almost does, the movement hypnotic, making his skin tingle with an intoxicating static, when the body beside him stirred ever so slightly.
One of Vox’s legs shifted against the silken bed sheets with a near imperceptible swish. Under Val’s lower hand, the remaining gill-vents kick up a gear whirring at a slightly higher frequency as they redoubled their efforts to cool their host, the air heated as Vox’s breathing increased in turn.
The living gill moved against Val’s now stationary knuckle in time with Vox’s heaving chest, the slightest tickle, sliding against the stickier mucus that had begun to cover the delicate organelles there.
Minutes passed as Val played. More daring in his ministrations now, thoroughly caught in his own game. Action and reaction. He gently pinched one of the fleshy tendrils and marvelled as Vox’s hand twitched, claws skittering over the sheets. He ducked his head and blew sweet smoke to caress the sensitive surfaces and slim hips flexed instinctively.
Val felt his grin grow wide, saliva pooling in his mouth, as those two dicks that had enticed him all those years ago stood to full attention.
Gracefully, Val slipped down the bed, letting the soft membrane of his wings blanket over his back to ward himself from the coolness that near-perpetually settled over the room.
Val grinned. Time to dial the temperature up, put those vents to good use.
He could have started slowly. Tantalise the very seam of the organic gill with feather-light caresses - like he had done so many moons ago - whilst blowing every so softly over the bioluminescent tips of those pretty cocks. Admired every one of Vox’s little tells as he would drift from the lazy river of sleep to break the surface of consciousness in pleasure. How pedestrian.
Why have a lazy river, when you could have a maelstrom, hmm?
Finger after finger of his upper right hand slipped under the gill flap, all gently twisting in the glossy treasure there. Neon pink unspoolled as Val let his tongue encircle Vox’s dicks, a loose figure-of-eight that cinched tighter as Val let his lower arms wander the canvas below him. One palm rolling Vox’s sack, the other reached higher to squeeze a pectoral, a bicep, the round of a shoulder.
Artists know how to balance composition, and Val was a master of his craft. Never overstimulating a section of Vox’s prone form too much, pushing just enough to tease gorgeous lines of action from his muse, a twitch, a sigh, a soft warbled moan through low-powered speakers.
The body below him jerks as the precipice approaches, and oh did his dear Voxxie know how to make a mess.
A cascade of viscous slick blurts its way out the teased gill, soaking the short downy fur of Val’s forearm all the way to the crook of an elbow. A groan bubbled forth muffled by as Val felt the warmth of the fluid start to cool in the sterile air, temperatures battling on his skin
The sheets beneath them are soaked, Val hears his wings flutter to attention, and doesn’t this bring back memories. With all the grace he owned, Val slipped closer, tongue guiding those dicks deep, but not before he let the viscous wetness coating his right hand drip onto his tongue, eyes rolling back at the familiar electric buzz as it spread through his body.
“Va- Oh. Oh fuck, fu-” Stomach muscles clenched, and Val moaned as both Vox’s dicks bobbed, spines flexing against his soft palette. A rough tug, cyan claws reach blindly and find his ruff, his neck beneath, the hinge of his jaw.
With a lewd pop Val pulled away, fluorescent tendrils of pink stringing from his lips, and grinned up at that soft blue light, solely focused on him.
It was true.
Vox’s office was never truly quiet, especially with Val around.