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Valentino loves when people underestimate him. Frustrating as it might be from time to time, he knows that in the end, the right person having the wrong perception will always give him the upper hand, both in business and in more personal matters.
He is especially fond of Vox underestimating him, though it doesn’t happen regularly. Vox might have the largest stick known to man up his ass and he might inexplicably act as repressed as he surely was during his mortal life, as if nobody had given him the memo that this is hell and nothing matters, but he wouldn’t have entered any kind of partnership with someone he didn’t respect. Vox thinks very highly of himself. He’d never associate with idiots. So, he respects Valentino.
What happens is that Vox forgets that Valentino can be very observant. Especially when it comes to his property and his business.
Valentino has never thrown a fit about the cameras placed in every goddamn corner of every goddamn room. He didn’t even throw a fit when he spilled cheap booze inside his limo and sparks flew since it fucked up a hidden camera on the floor, of all places. Decades ago, Valentino imagined that this was just Vox’s way of keeping tabs on everyone for safety and, potentially, for blackmail. It had worked like a charm when one of Vox’s employees tried to steal money from him, since it wasn’t exactly wise to argue against video footage of yourself committing a crime. That much was as true on earth as it was in hell. Very soon though, Valentino realized that there was a lot more to it.
He’s made a name for himself by providing outlets for all the sinners’ most depraved fetishes and desires. It’s what he does. He has a sixth sense for this kind of thing. The second he spoke to Vox, he knew the right words to say and the exact angle he had to approach him in order to get the stick out of his ass and replace it with his cock. His fella was nowhere near as enigmatic as he fancied himself. The true depths of Vox’s voyeurism had been a surprise, though, and Valentino was more than happy to help him indulge.
For a while, he pretended like he didn’t know that Vox had set up cameras in his bedroom and he gave Vox many personal shows when he knew the guy would be in his control room, lurking and watching like a goddamn creep. Valentino would fake ignorance, jerk off with Vox’s name lingering on his lips, touching himself in ways he never actually did when he still had privacy, arching his back, spreading his legs, even using a dildo to give Vox a taste of what he’d look like bouncing on his cock. He was a purveyor of degeneracy, but he was first and foremost a performer.
He knows Vox likes to watch him break in the new talent. Sometimes, Valentino does things to them that he knows Vox particularly likes. He’ll slap them harder, pull their hair a little longer, or dig his claws into their flesh just to draw some blood. The thing is, he doesn’t think Vox ever had any particular taste for any of the poor souls that landed on his casting couch. Valentino thought that Vox only got off to him.
That was until he walked in on something very interesting.
Vox was in their bedroom, not the freaky room with three dozen screens flashing live feeds from every conceivable location, and he was having a very fun time watching the TV at the foot of the bed. When Valentino opened the door, his first instinct was to announce his arrival, but then he heard none other than Angel Dust moaning through the speakers. Val was careful to stay quiet and hidden while Vox grunted and pumped his cock like he wanted to rip it right off. For a second, Val thought that it was just the first tape Vox could find to get off, nothing special, but soon enough, Val noticed that the scene changed and the screen was only showing Angel’s face while Val fucked him from behind in his dressing room. The camera was focused fully on that image for minutes: only Angel’s smeared makeup, his fangs on display as he screamed his pleasure, Val’s claws pulling at his hair and digging hard into his chest. Then, the scene changed again, this time showing Angel in Val’s bed, arms tied up to a ring above the headboard, and once again the camera zoomed in on him while Valentino pounded into him. Ironically, Vox seemed hypnotized.
So, Val was curious, to say the least. He watched for a few minutes longer and saw that the camera angle opened to show him flipping Angel onto his back, and the camera whirred and panned up Angel’s body to zoomed in on his writhing body, from the waist up, as he moaned “Val, Val, Val!” and choked when Val squeezed his throat. There were tears in the corners of his eyes and this made Vox curse and fuck harder into his fist. On the screen, Val’s fingers slid into Angel’s mouth and he moaned, and after, Val slapped his cheek. Angel cried out as if he were in the porn studio and not in Valentino’s bed, and when Val slapped him again Angel sobbed the words, “Harder, daddy,” and that was all it took to make Vox spill a mess all over himself. Val didn’t have to see it, hearing the way Vox’s breath hitched and how quietly he growled was enough, he’d heard it countless times. Vox immediately turned off the screen and began to clean himself up, already filled with shame Val could spot six miles away, the likes of which he hadn’t seen since he’d frequented Catholic churches when he lived.
It wasn’t jealousy that made Valentino’s face burn up, but raw lust at the endless possibilities suddenly displayed before him, as bright and clear as the images on the screen.
As always, it’s easy to lure Vox into the bedroom. While Vox is going over numbers and all manner of tedious shit in his office with three of his little assistants, Val pretends to listen long enough to seem engaged in the discussion, and he announces that he has some other work to do. All Val has to do is stroke the side of Vox’s neck to feel him shudder, chuckle under his breath and purr into his ear: “I’ll wait upstairs, papi.” He doesn’t even have to turn around to know that Vox is burning a hole through his wings, watching the sway of his hips as he walks away.
Just for kicks, Val looks at the clock on the wall to see how long it takes Vox to show up. He’s sitting on a large chair in front of their bed, with anticipation already building up in his lower stomach. To kill some seconds, he lights a cigarette and unbuttons the top of the sheer black shirt that he knows Vox enjoys.
Exactly three minutes and thirty seconds later, he can hear the door open and the distinct click of Vox’s shoes on the tiles.
Val stands up and turns around to greet him with a wide smile.
“You need to stop doing that during our meetings, Val,” Vox scolds him, but he’s already loosening his tie and walking in his direction. Val thinks it’s cute when Vox acts like he doesn’t want.
Val wraps his arms around Vox’s shoulders with a dirty grin splitting his face in half and some drool already dripping at the corner of his mouth, he’s already turned on. It doesn’t escape him that Vox’s eyes immediately travel down his open shirt and stay there for longer than just a couple of seconds.
He makes a purring sound and fakes a pout. “Do what, papi?” Teasingly, he prods at one of Vox’s antennas. “Was I distracting you?”
Vox huffs. It’s impossible to visibly tell when Vox blushes, of course, but Val can feel some heat radiating off of him, which is always a telltale sign that he’s doing exactly what Vox wants him to be doing, even when Vox himself doesn’t seem to realize. Val’s job is to read people to figure out what they really, truly want, and then give it to them.
“Yes. You’re lucky it was nothing important today, but if you do that again, I swear—”
“Oh? Are you going to punish me?” Val places his hand in the middle of Vox’s chest, covering it entirely, and he lets a laugh rumble in his chest. “You know I’d enjoy that too much.”
“You’re a menace,” Vox sits at the edge of the chair with his legs spread wide to accommodate Val between them, or so he intends. “I don’t mean that as a compliment.”
“Oh?” Val smirks, and he lets Vox grab him by the hips and even drag his palms up his stomach for a moment. “Well. Maybe you should let me make it up to you.”
Val uses his phone to start playing music through the speakers. Nothing like the loud, droning songs that play at the clubs, because Vox is a man of his time, but something softer, more melodic, which he’s reserved for the times he’s put on little private dances for Vox to reminisce about the old days. After all, if someone like Angel Dust has become a star, it’s because Val taught him everything he knows.
“I have a meeting in half an hour, Val,” Vox seems to warn him, which is both fruitless and stupid. They both know when they’re in their bedroom and Val is in a mood, it’s gonna be a night-long affair. The music just solidifies this fact. Vox just likes to play hard to get until he convinces himself that a night of marathon fucking was his idea.
“Mmmh,” Val hums with condescension when Vox shifts in the chair. Val gives a corner of his screen a playful flick, then runs his fingertip down the bottom, as if he were stroking his chin. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Close your eyes.”
Vox can be surprisingly obedient and agreeable when the promise of getting his dick wet is looming on the horizon. He’s been so good in the past that Val doesn’t even have to warn him not to peek, and he knows he doesn’t, even as Val steps away and snaps his fingers.
Angel comes into the room quiet as a mouse, just as Val had instructed him, dressed in a sheer top that accentuates his chest and matches Val’s, and black shorts that barely cover his ass, flimsy and pinching his flesh in a way that begs for teeth to be buried into it. He also happens to be wearing an annoyed look on his face, but he schools his expression and smiles when he’s within Val’s field of vision. With a regular client, Val would at least clear his throat as a warning for Angel to start acting right, but it’s Vox. If anyone can get off to this kind of behavior, it’s him.
Angel stands with his back turned to Vox, between his legs, and looks at Val to wait for his nod of approval. And once Val does, Angel sits on Vox’s lap and rocks his ass in tune with the music, just enough to make Vox hum with interest–yet when Angel takes his hands and places them over his thighs, Vox immediately opens his eyes.
“What the fuck is this?” Vox can’t even pretend to hide his contempt as he looks at Angel’s back. It’s clearly not disgust, no matter how much Vox huffs and puffs and snaps his hands away from Angel’s thighs as if they’d burnt him.
“A treat,” Val answers, taking a long drag of his cigarette and letting out a thick cloud of red smoke. The room gets filled with its spiced scent immediately, and at such a short distance, he can see Angel closing his eyes and shuddering when he inhales it.
Sometimes Val wishes the smoke and his spit had the same effect on Vox. He’d love to have him at his mercy, pliant and agreeable, hungry and eager to get fucked stupid with a taste or two, but alas, he has to rely on other methods. They’re just as effective, of course, but they take so much more effort.
Angel sways his hips and brings Vox’s hands back onto his thighs, guides them up and places them around his waist before he turns around. He’s still dancing, slow and hypnotic, when he drapes his primary set of arms around Vox’s neck and straddles his lap, leaning back until his head nearly touches the floor before pulling himself back up, using his lower arms and Vox’s shirt as an anchor.
“Val. What the fuck?” Vox says, his voice louder and strained. He sounds irritated, tiptoeing close to anger; he frowns and his screen glitches for a second–but of course he doesn’t move his hands away from Angel’s waist. In fact, he digs into the soft skin and his hips jerk ever so slightly as Angel continues to slowly grind on his crotch.
His little display would be infinitely more believable if Val hadn’t caught him furiously jerking off to a homemade video compilation of Angel getting fucked.
“I just told you, it’s a treat, papi.” Another puff of smoke.
“What makes you think I want this?” Vox stammers while Angel rocks and sways his hips in shapes of 8, and slips his fingers under the neck of Vox’s shirt. Again, Vox doesn’t even try to stop him. “Your sloppy seconds? Disgusting. How many cocks have been in him today?”
Angel rolls his eyes. “I’m right here.”
“I’m not talking to you.” Vox, hilariously, wraps both hands around Angel’s hips to keep him still, but Val can read him easier than a children’s book. It makes him chuckle.
“You’re talkin’ about me,” Angel argues, because he’s a bitch. It’s part of his charm, Val can’t deny it. Angel cursed like a sailor and carried himself with the attitude of–well, a seasoned mafioso when the situation called for it. Val takes great pleasure in breaking his feisty streaks when they rise. So naturally, he believes Vox will feel the same. “But since you’re asking, it was only his,” Angel arches his body back after pointing at Val with his chin. Just to piss off Vox.
Valentino could kiss him.
“Does Valentino pay you to talk or to spread your legs, whore?” Vox hisses, with a distinct intonation, a strain in his syllables that almost has Val kicking his feet with glee. He’s turned on. It’s building up, rising like foam, very close to the boiling point. Val can feel his mouth getting full of saliva, a few drops already spilling out of the corner of his lips.
“I can multitask.” Angel bumps his hips forward and uses his second set of arms to hold Vox’s hands around his waist, firmly enough to help him keep his balance.
“Val.” Vox growls with static in his voice, tilting his head away from Angel.
“Oh, I think you misunderstood. It’s a treat for me,” Val informs him with a purr, crossing his legs and leaning back to drive the point home.
“Asshole,” Vox groans it and Angel mumbles it, so Val laughs with delight.
“Don’t be a bitch and ruin it for me, Vox,” Val takes another long drag of his cigarette. “You know I could make a fortune handing Angelcakes over to some sad prick and you’re getting him for free.”
Angel rolls his eyes and mumbles something but dutifully continues to dance on Vox’s lap as the music switches to something more lively. He rocks his hips and arches his back, strokes the sides of Vox’s neck, and judging by the way he smirks at the loud whirrs, he knows he’s getting to Vox. He can probably also feel it.
“Plus, I know you want to.” Val lets his voice drop to something raspy, sultry, the same tone he uses when he’s alone with Vox, tying him up to the bed or sneaking under the desk to blow him. It’s easy like painting by numbers. “Don’t you wanna fuck him, papi? Make him scream? Don't you wanna fuck his mouth and cum on his face to show him who’s boss? Don’t you wanna ruin him?”
“God, I fucking hate you,” Vox growls at either of them, or maybe at both, and grabs Angel harder, pulls at his hair to make him hiss.
“Well, babe, you got to jerk off watching me fuck Angel so I think this is only fair,” Val taps the shaft of his cigarette holder and lets the ashes swirl to the floor, just to rile up Vox even more.
Vox’s entire screen glitches. The whirrs get louder and his voice stops and starts broken through a speaker. “You what?”
“Hm? Not so fun when you’re the one being watched, is that it?” Val lets out a cloud of smoke and laughs at the reaction. “You should try locking the door next time.”
“Val, you fucking–”
Val tuts and points at Angel with his chin. “Hey, I got you what you wanted, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Angel knows. Of course Val told him. He figured dropping a bombshell like this on him in the heat of the moment would ruin the mood, so he had to sacrifice a little fun for a better show. And Angel knows how to push the buttons of a man like Vox–he might lack the finesse that Val has, but it’s not really his fault. Val is Vox’s partner, Angel is simply the nuisance that apparently makes Vox hard. For years, Val has seen Vox twist his mouth and roll his eyes, heard him sigh and groan every time Angel dares to stand within his field of vision or even when his name is merely uttered, so naturally Val never put them together in a room like this, even if the thought of passing Angel around or fucking them both crossed his mind plenty of times. Either way, Angel knows how to play the tune in sync with Val.
“What did ya like to see?” Angel rolls his hips and guides Vox’s hands to grope his chest. “Did ya like seein’ me tied up? On my knees? Gettin’ my mouth fucked? Just say the word.”
Vox’s neck tenses up as if he'd swallowed a large lump, his claws digging hard into Angel’s chest, so much so that Val vaguely wonders if it hurts. But if it does, Angel keeps it professional and gives no indication of it.
“Stop talking.” Vox’s tone drips venom and lust in equal amounts, it sounds tense like a stretched rubber band, close to snapping.
“Make me.” Angel grinds his hips forward, the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back.
Vox shoots Val a sideways glance before he grabs Angel and throws him onto the bed. Not the best view from where Val is, but he’d be silly to interrupt. So he watches Vox stand up straight, unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants with urgency, kicking Angel’s knees apart with his thigh and placing himself between them. From the chair, Val leans to the side on his elbow to watch the way Vox slips his claw under the spot where the skimpy shorts pinch Angel’s thigh and rips them with a single tear.
Angel gasps and wiggles his hips to let the shorts be removed for good, his expression shocked and somewhat scared. Eyes wide, brow furrowed, a light blush across his face. Everything calculated, every micro expression carefully crafted in advance, mastered through years of practice. Val smiles to himself, getting harder by the second, congratulating himself at how well he’s trained Angel, his reaction is almost believable. It’s convincing enough for Vox to pin Angel’s wrists down and grind his hips forward with a lewd grunt. Val doesn’t even have to wonder if Angel understands, he already knows he does.
“Mr. Vox, wait,” Angel makes his voice higher and arches his back off the bed, places his lower arms on Vox’s hips to appear like he’s about to fight him off. “Val said you wouldn’t be too rough…”
That’s one of the buttons that are easily pressed. Vox’s hand immediately wraps around Angel’s neck and squeezes, making Angel moan quietly and wrap his delicate fingers around Vox’s wrist. ‘Val.’ He swears he can hear Vox curse Angel under his breath every time he uses Vox’s pet name for him.
“Did he.”
“Yes,” Angel sighs and whimpers when Vox squeezes harder. “He told me while he was fuckin’ me right here. You weren’t watchin’ that?”
Vox slaps Angel across the face so hard that Val can barely hear his voice fill with static when he speaks. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he says, and slaps Angel again, pulling a louder moan right out of him.
Vox uses another claw to rip Angel’s top down the middle, scraping the skin underneath enough to make Angel hiss. Vox doesn’t bother removing the torn fabric or pushing it aside, he thrusts his hips forward and easily manhandles Angel into position.
“Vox–” Angel coughs, spreading his legs wider.
“Dumb. Fucking. Whore,” Vox mutters to himself with rough breaths in between as he pushes inside, inch by inch, with short, hurried thrusts.
Valentino could come from the sight alone. Angel gasps and wraps his legs around Vox’s hips, pulling him closer until Vox bottoms out. There’s a distinct whirr and Vox sighs, pressing Angel down against the bed by the throat until he sputters. Val can tell by the sounds and the way Vox’s hips still that he’s trying to keep it together, that he’s overwhelmed by the tight, wet heat of Angel around him. There’s a reason Angel is Valentino’s favorite after all, and maybe now that Vox is experiencing it firsthand, he’ll finally get that stick out of his ass and get over his stupid jealousy. One can only hope.
“Fucking slut,” Vox growls and picks up the pace, fucking into Angel without rhyme or reason. Val can hear the way his thighs slap against Angel’s skin with every thrust and the feeble whine Angel lets out when Vox grabs one of his legs to push it further apart and fuck him deeper.
Like the professional he is, Angel cries out and rocks that tight little ass of his down to meet Vox’s frantic motions. He croaks out one “Yes” after another and arches his back off the bed until the pressure of Vox’s hand finally cuts off his voice.
“I said be quiet, you fucking…” Vox pants, fucking into Angel with reckless abandon. He slaps Angel across the face again, again, again, and growls. Val’s very educated guess is that Angel must be tightening deliciously around Vox’s cock every time he strikes him, and that Vox is so close to the edge that he’s acting out due to frustration.
Valentino could be wrong, though he rarely is when it comes to these matters. He hums and takes another drag of a new cigarette, red smoke curling into clouds across the room, thicker and heavier than before. He stands up to sit on the bedside table instead, grinning down at Vox when he looks up with that pissed off, fiery look in his face. Val always found it captivating, Vox could be so expressive despite the challenges of his mechanical anatomy. Valentino spreads his legs and shamelessly strokes his hard cock through his pants.
“Harder,” Angel moans, clutching at Vox’s wrist with two dainty hands. “Val fucks me harder.”
Valentino chuckles. Vox’s eyes widen with an accusatory glare directed straight at him, he pauses his thrusting for a second and looks back down at Angel.
“What did you just say?” He grabs Angel’s chin and squeezes.
“I said Val fucks me like he means it,” Angel gives Vox a shit-eating smirk that makes Val’s chest swell with pride and his cock twitch with want. “Not like a pussy.”
“I’ll fucking show you,” Vox grabs Angel’s arms, pushes him away and flips him onto his stomach as easily as if he’d flipped through the pages of a newspaper. Angel makes a few sounds, quick and quiet, but Vox is on a roll: he’s focused and pissed and he moves fast.
His belt cracks like a whip when he slides it off his slacks and wraps it around Angel’s neck, tightening it until Angel sputters. Sure he brings his fingers up to touch the buckle, and sure he wiggles his hips a few inches away from Vox, and sure he peeks up at Val as if he wanted to ask for something, but the second Vox pulls the belt back, whatever Angel had going through his mind crumbles into an obscene mewl. Vox tightens his grip on the belt, wrapping it a few times around his fist to pull harder, forcing Angel’s back to arch uncomfortably but at the perfect angle for Valentino to enjoy the view.
Vox uses his free hand to pin Angel’s arms behind his back and starts pounding into him, shallow at first, hard, to emphasize every hateful word that comes out of his mouth in strained static.
“Mouthy fucking skank,” he grits out, twisting Angel’s arms to Val’s delight. “You’re just his cum dumpster, you know that?” He tilts his head forward to growl straight into Angel’s ear, his pace quickening again. “You’re just an easy hole for everyone to use,” he pulls harder on the belt until Angel chokes, and he lets go of his arms to grab at Angel’s chest instead, hard, digging his claws into the soft fur until he reaches the tender skin underneath and scratches it.
Val pulls his dick out of his pants at last, unable to hold back a second longer, and starts fucking hard into his fist while Angel gasps for air. It’s quite the show, perfectly orchestrated if he says so himself; part of him really hopes that the cameras scattered across the room are all fully functional, he already knows he’ll be coming back to this session dozens of times. He loves everything too much. He loves the way Angel’s mouth hangs open, how hard that cute, useless cock of his is bouncing against his belly with every thrust, and the way Vox grabs at Angel’s chest like he wanted to tear through it. The wet sounds of the sloppy thrusts and the whirring just add to the beauty of it. This might just be Valentino’s magnum opus.
“Vox,” Angel coughs and writhes, so wet it’s dripping onto the bed. He twists his arms behind his back to grab at whatever part of Vox’s body he can reach, only to have Vox immobilize them again.
“Stay still until I’m fucking done with you,” Vox releases the belt just to force Angel to turn back and look at him, he forces his mouth open and spits into it.
Angel moans instantly, loud and desperate and needy, just the way Val likes. He pumps harder into his fist, slick with his own saliva that makes his skin tingle, almost overwhelming.
“Do you like it, baby?” Valentino purrs, standing up just to bring himself closer to Angel. He kneels in front of him on the bed and runs his fingers through his hair tenderly, coaxing his mouth to stay open to let saliva drip into his mouth.
The effect is instant. Angel visibly shudders and his eyes roll back into his skull, he nods and moans, and Val can see his cock twitching, spilling precum onto the sheets.
“I love it,” Angel says, cock-drunk and getting higher with just a few more drops. “Please–”
Vox pulls at the belt again and thrusts harder, faster, even more frantic than before. Angel is gasping and choking, clawing helplessly at the leather around his neck with one set of hands and steadying himself with the other on Valentino’s hips. He’s nodding through it, whimpering, mascara smeared with tears on his face. He sputters and sobs, makes choked sounds that sound like Vox and Val’s names mixed together in an incoherent cry for release.
Behind him, Vox’s mechanical noises get louder. Whirrs and static, peppered in with grunts and the telltale choked gasp that always accompanies his climax. “Fuck–” he cries out, pulling the belt harder for purchase and grabbing Angel’s ass so hard his claws draw minuscule droplets of blood. “Fuck, fuck, you fucking whore,” he chokes out, his hips jerking forward as he empties himself inside of Angel. He moans, he growls with contempt and lust tangible in every sound, and his face screen goes blank for a second.
Val could kiss him stupid right now. Sadly, Angel is in the way and his cock is throbbing in his fist, but he can wait a little longer.
Angel comes just then. Untouched, trembling, spilling a mess onto the bed and helplessly, fruitlessly trying to crawl away. Valentino wouldn’t have been able to time it better if he had tried, and the way Angel struggles to get free of Vox’s grip just makes it all the sweeter.
“Open up, baby,” Val coos as he opens Angel’s mouth with a thumb and guides his head down. Angel does, pliant in the afterglow, sticking his tongue out, hungry in a way that Valentino knows Angel only gets for him. “Mmh, you did so well, amorcito,” he pants, pumping his cock and pushing the head past Angel’s lips just as he’s about to come. He digs his claws into Angel’s hair and keeps him steady as he spills inside, moaning with every spurt and pushing a little further in until he’s finished.
Then he reaches behind Angel to pull Vox into the kiss he wanted, and which he thinks he deserves. Loud and messy, all tongue while Vox still struggles to regain control. Vox pulls out of Angel the second Val deepens the kiss and shoves him aside like a piece of trash, wrapping his other hand around the nape of Val’s neck.
Then, Vox breaks the kiss. He wipes his screen with the back of his hand and glares down at Angel. He’s crawling away from them and turning sideways to start getting the belt off his neck. To the untrained eye, the look in Vox’s face would spell “disgust.” But Valentino knows him better.
He touches the corner of his screen gently to regain his attention, chuckling, a smirk on his face similar to what Angel had on when he started pushing his buttons.
“You’re welcome, papi.”
“Fuck off, Val,” Vox says, but he sounds flustered. Perhaps a little ashamed. It’s a good look on him, irresistible. It makes Valentino’s skin tingle with the need to push him further, tease him longer, break his pride and leave him begging for more of what fuels his shame.
“I didn’t ask for this,” Vox huffs like he was throwing a tantrum, getting up off the bed to pull his pants back on, his back turned to them. Meanwhile, Val rests back against the headboard and wraps an arm around Angel’s waist.
Angel is still malleable like clay. He curls up next to Val, his face a mess of tears and spit and runny mascara, the bruise around his neck already darkening. Clothes torn, smears of blood on his hips, the soft fur of his chest ruffled and messy. He looks gorgeous like this, Val thinks. Ruined. Smiling pretty through it.
“You didn’t have to. It’s my job to be two steps ahead, papi,” Val explains, lighting a cigarette.
Vox turns around. His reaction is exactly what Valentino wanted. His screen glitches when he sees the two of them curled up on the bed, comfortable and still a little high off their orgasms, without him there.
“You’re done already?” Angel asks, keeping a hard eye contact with Vox as he strokes Val’s chest in circles and swings a leg over his hips. He sounds confident, cocky though his voice is wrecked and raspy from the choking. “I thought you said he could go more than just one round, Val.”
“Give him a minute, baby.” Val takes a long drag of his cigarette, filling the room with red smoke before handing it over to Angel.
“I hate you both.” Vox groans, and pulls his pants back down.
Valentino chuckles, delighted, beckoning Vox with a curl of his finger as if he needed any more coaxing. Valentino is good at his job. He’s an expert. Almost as good at it as he is at getting exactly what he wants.