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Valentino perches on Vox’s lap, tablet in hand, scrolling through an online shop.
“I want this one. And this one. And this,” he declares, displaying to Vox a selection of pretty, slutty dresses. “What do you think about this one? I kinda like it. Can I have it too?”
Vox's interest is only mild; he doesn't particularly care about fashion, and Valentino doesn't care much about his opinions in that matter. But he enjoys their little game, understanding how much it satisfies Vox to play the nurturing role of a strong, masculine figure who takes care of his princess. So Valentino indulges this desire, relishing being spoiled, despite his own wealth and influence.
“Of course you can, love,” agrees Vox, briefly pausing from answering emails on his phone to glance at the clothes. “They are very… nice. What do you think about this one?” he asks, clicking on a dress.
It's a relatively simple, black garment—a classical Dior silhouette, with a wide A-line midi skirt crafted from tulle, long sleeves, a defined narrow waist, and a boatneck. It doesn’t look like anything Valentino would ever wear, but Vox must genuinely like it if it caught his attention.
“Not really my style,” Valentino admits. “But you would serve so much cunt in this, I swear.”
Vox chuckles softly but, but his amusement fades when Valentino doesn’t join in.
“Wait, you are serious?” he asks, raising one eyebrow.
Valentino shrugs.
“Sure. It’s perfect for your slutty waist. The wide bottom would nicely balance your screen. And this neckline,” he says, tracing a finger just below Vox’s collarbones, “would work so well for your frame.” He smiles widely, licking his teeth, already dripping with red saliva “We should get it for you.”
Vox blushes slightly and squirms uncomfortably beneath Valentino, shaking his head.
“I don’t think it would suit me, Val.”
Valentino raises an eyebrow.
“I just told you why it would. Are you even paying attention?”
“I heard you, babe. But, you know, I’m a man,” he explains, as if Valentino had somehow missed this obvious obstacle.
Valentino would raise his eyebrow even higher if it was possible. He’s not sure whether to giggle because it sounds like a silly joke to him, but Vox seems dead serious. So instead, he asks:
“Vox? Do you know I’m a man too?”
There’s visible doubt in Vox’s expression.
“Aren’t you more… nonbinary?” he suggests, his voice hesitant.
In Valentino’s mind his eyebrows do the full 360 around his head.
“The fuck now?” he retorts incredulously.
Vox shrugs.
“Velvette told me it's a more appropriate term than transvestite.”
“No, that’s not– okay, firstly, these are not the same thing. Secondly, I’m a man, Vox. One hundred percent cis man.”
“Whatever you say, love,” sighs Vox, petting Valentino’s bare thigh. “Can I pay for your dresses now?”
Valentino narrows his eyes but hands Vox the tablet to complete the transaction.
“You know,” he muses while the media Overlord is busy finalizing the purchase, “I think I’m more of a man than you, Voxy. At least I don’t feel like the only thing keeping my masculinity together is a pair of pants.”
Vox freezes for a second with a claw hovering above the touch screen. He takes a deep breath and looks back at Val, who waits for the reaction with a shit-eating grin painted across his face. For a moment, Vox appears annoyed, but the tension quickly dissolves into a sleazy smirk.
“I see, someone’s feeling bratty,” he murmurs, pinching Val’s ass cheek. “Why be such a meanie, princess, when I’m buying you pretty dresses?”
Valentino laughs and put arms around Vox’s neck. He’s not in the mood to deal with his partner’s issues today, so he gladly allows Vox to dodge the topic.
“Maybe because I want you to punish me, papi? You could make good use of your big, manly hands,” Val teases as he raises Vox’s free hand to his mouth and wraps his tongue around two fingers.
Vox swallows, his heartbeat quickening.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage to put you back in your place, dollface.”
***
A week passes, and Valentino completely forgets the conversation about dresses. He has a more pressing matter in his hands: production of his new miniseries about a former US president who ends up in Hell and starts working at a brothel is moving full steam ahead. Valentino spends hours on set directing, at the office editing Travis’ shitty script, or in the cloakroom consulting Velvette’s costumes from the 2000s era. He's poured a crazy amount of money into this project, and Vox agreed to give it a prime-time slot, so it has to be perfect.
Vox usually takes advantage of Valentino’s busy schedule to catch up on his own work without the distraction of his horny boyfriend, so it is surprising when he appears standing in the office doorway. He carries two black boxes—one of them big enough to fit a 70-inch TV, the other smaller, like an average shoebox.
“Please don’t tell me your new head has arrived,” Valentino quips, closing his laptop.
Vox doesn’t even crack a smile. There’s a determined look in his eyes; he appears like a man on a mission.
“I need you to teach me how to walk in heels,” he demands, placing the boxes on the table in front of Valentino.
“Pardon?” Valentino blinks in confusion.
“You heard me, Val.”
“Sure the fuck I heard you, I just don’t understand why you're asking for this.”
“I bought the damn dress, okay? But it will look like shit with flats,” Vox mutters, averting his gaze.
“Wait, my dresses arrived?” Valentino perks up. “Why didn’t you bring them?”
“Val. Babe. Can you focus? It's…” Vox hesitates, nervously drumming his claws on the box. “It's a big deal for me.”
“Hey, mi amor,” Valentino stands up and approaches his partner. He rests his hands on Vox's shoulders and squeezes them lightly, sensing his tension. He barely refrains from laughing; it wouldn't be a supportive boyfriend move, but he finds Vox’s struggles to fit others' expectations amusing. It’s a recurring theme in their relationship, ever since they first met and the Media Overlord had his bisexual awakening. But that moment also gave Valentino the taste of pleasure and power that comes from showing Vox the way out of these traps. “Relax. It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll show you.”
***
Valentino is not a good teacher - he lacks patience, focus, and the general ability to explain things. But that's okay because Vox is a good learner, capable of mastering anything if he puts his mind to it. Sometimes he just needs someone to hold his hand in the process and plaster him with praises.
“You're doing amazing, babe,” purrs Valentino as Vox parades across the room in his shiny, black platforms. “Just push your hips a little forward; you're arching your back.”
“Like it ever bothered you,” Vox grins, but he adjusts his posture, takes a few more steps, and executes a small pirouette in front of Valentino. It seems like after he stopped stumbling, he found joy in conquering this new challenge.
The Overlord of Depravity bites his lips watching this and undos two more buttons of his shirt. Vox looks tantalizing, stilettos perfectly complimenting his sleek suit in the gender-bending way that makes Valentino’s dick twitch with excitement. It is hard to keep an eye on the actual goal of their lesson when his partner is being such a tease.
Valentino allows Vox to walk across the room a few more times before casually throwing off:
“Now, undress.”
“What?” A furrow appears between Vox’s eyebrows. “Val, we’ll fuck later. We have a job to do.”
“Oh, come on, Voxy. I mean, it’s time to try on your dress,” Valentino insists, taking the lid off the box and revealing the black garment. The ruffly skirt barely fits inside - when Valentino takes it out, it blossoms like a hollyhock.
Doubts cast a shadow onto Vox’s expression when he eyes it, like it is some enemy he has to face. But he quickly shakes them off and nods with resolve.
“Okay, let’s fucking do it.”
A moment of hushed anticipation fills the air as Vox swiftly sheds his suit and, with Valentino’s assistance, slips into the dress. Before Vox can do it himself, Val drops on one knee before him and starts deftly buttoning up the garment.
A soft blush graces Vox's cheeks at the unexpected display of chivalry.
“Thanks, Val,” he says, voice laced with a tender warmth that catches Valentino off guard. He raises his eyes at Vox and smiles fondly.
“My pleasure.” He plants a short kiss on the inside of Vox’s wrist, just below the cuff of the silky, black sleeve; the pulse beneath his lips races. “How are you feeling?”
“Impatient,” Vox admits, briefly caressing Valentino’s cheek. “And how do I look?”
“Like my wettest dream, mi amor. I can’t promise that your dress survives it.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Vox retorts with a playful warning glare, though a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.
"See? You already like it," Valentino chuckles softly as he stands up to finish the last few buttons. For a moment, he fixates on Vox’s collarbones, contemplating leaning closer and giving one a not-so-gentle nibble; they look absolutely delicious. "Okay, now don’t peek."
“Are you joking? I’ll kill myself on these,” Vox huffs, tapping his foot.
“No, you won’t. I've got you, babe,” Valentino assures, taking Vox’s hand and wrapping one arm around his midsection.
Vox exhales and closes his eyes. Valentino trusts that it means he has also turned off the camera, and slowly guides him to the mirror.
"See? No staggering. I taught you well," he whispers, satisfied standing behind Vox. "Now, you can look."
Gulping, Vox slowly opens his eyes. In the mirror, Val observes with fascination a bright flush spreading across his screen.
Unable to contain it, Valentino flashes a broad, toothy smile, feeling pride swell in his chest as he admires his speechless partner.
With deliberate care, Vox examines every inch of his new appearance. He delicately touches his exposed neck, that begs to be kissed, licked and bitten. His fingers trail over his forearms, now encased in the luxurious embrace of the shiny fabric. As he places his hands on his hips, his uncertainty begins to dissipate, replaced by a growing sense of confidence glimmering in the eyes.
“Look at you; such a dollface,” Val murmurs, placing hands on Vox’s narrow waist, his touch firm and possessive.
“I…” Vox’s reflection meets Valentino’s sparkling, ruby eyes. “I think I look good.”
“Good? Vox, if this dress weren’t so ruffled, you'd feel how hard I am." Every word drips with barely restrained desire, as Valentino grinds against Vox’s body. The heat between them is palpable. “I’m this patient only because I don’t want to ruin your moment.”
With a swift movement, Vox turns in Valentino’s embrace, and pulls him closer by the belt loops.
“Oh, Val. You've made this moment for me,” Vox’s voice grows husky. “I’ll show you how grateful I am for having such an amazing, supportive partner.”
A hint of darkness sneaks into his joyfully bright eyes, and noticing this sends a shiver down Valentino's body. He recognizes the look, this unique mixture of fondness and rapacity. His tone is thick with longing when he asks:
“Does this mean I can finally fuck you?”
“Absolutely not,” Vox responds with unwavering determination. Before Valentino can protest, he adds, “Bend over. Hands on the mirror. Oh, and take off your shoes.”
This command doesn’t quite fit with Valentino’s fantasy of making Vox his teary-eyed princess. Yet, there’s something undeniably captivating about Vox toying with this newfound power. So, with a frustrated groan, Valentino obeys. He yearns for untamed passion; he longs to kiss, lick, and bite; he craves the sensation of Vox’s hard muscles moving beneath expensive fabric, to wrap his fingers around Vox’s elegant neck, to delve beneath layers of tulle and push tongue down Vox’s tight hole. But his lover is methodical, as cold and unyielding as the mirror’s surface. Not saying a word, he finds the bottle of lube, corrects Valentino’s position, unbuckles his belt, and pulls the trousers down, releasing the painfully hard, purple cock. Val quivers when cold air hits his heated skin.
“I thought you were grateful,” he points out, a hint of frustration in his voice.
“But babe…” Vox hums, squeezing lube onto his palm. “You love being manhandled.” As if to prove his point, he pushes two slick fingers inside Valentino’s body, immediately aiming for the prostate, tearing a loud gasp out of Valentino's mouth. “See?”
“Ah, fuck yeah, papi,” Valentino chokes out, closing his eyes and surrendering to the jolts of pleasure Vox sends through his body. He moves his hips rapidly, eagerly impaling himself on Vox's fingers.
Spank. A heavy hit lands on Valentino's bare ass cheek, Vox’s claws leaving four burning marks.
“The fuck was that for!” Valentino cringes, glaring at his lover.
A smug grin twists Vox’s features.
“Eyes on me, love,” Vox demands, his grip tightening on Val's sore buttock. “Tell me how pretty I look.”
“Very pretty,” Valentino hisses, struggling to maintain his focus on Vox’s reflection.
Spank.
“You can do better.”
Red saliva spills from Valentino's gaping mouth, tracing a crimson trail down his chin. Desperately, he rummages through his mind for words that would satisfy Vox’s vanity.
“You look absolutely stunning. Like a Hollywood star. Absolutely breathtaking. I adore that you chose this dress, it suits you perfectly, you are truly serving, darling…” he mumbles nonsensically, holding Vox's gaze. It's almost like a game - every time Valentino scores a point, Vox rewards him with a short, electric shock that courses through his body with a titillating tingle, making winning the next round even more challenging.
After a few minutes, Val is completely breathless and trembling, his mind wracked with exhaustion and desire.
“I’ve had enough, mi amor,” he pleads, his voice strained, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that have formed in his eyes.
“Are you ready to admit that you are not more of a man than me?” There’s nothing but sheer delight in Vox’s voice, a hint of triumph dancing in his eyes.
If Valentino heard it under any other circumstances, he would burst into hysterical laughter. This petty bitch. This fucking narcissist and his fragile masculinity, as delicate as china. But not now, not when he’s so vulnerable, his body craving nothing but to finally be claimed by Vox.
Well played.
“I’m not. I’m not, papi.”
“And?” Though Vox tries to maintain his composed, dominant demeanor, a slight crack in his voice betrays him. He’s already on edge, Valentino just has to push a little harder.
“And I’m sorry for questioning you,” Valentino responds, his voice dripping with the sweetest, most submissive tone he can muster. Which honestly isn’t that hard in this position.
“Now that’s my princess,” Vox purrs, taking fingers out with an obscenely wet sound.
Valentino’s body quivers with fervent anticipation as Vox wrestles against the layers of tulle, attempting to drape them.
“Struggling to find your dick down there?” Val banters.
Vox rolls his eyes, allowing the heavy folds of fabric to rest on his partner’s arched back.
“You really cannot stop being a fucking brat, can you?” He grabs a fistful of Valentino’s fur and enters his body with a forceful push, eliciting a loud, pleased moan as the only response.
It’s by no means a long, finesse-filled fuck. They are both already so tense that it takes only a few thrusts before Valentino comes, painting the mirror with pale-pink cum. Shaken by the sensation, he almost collapses on the floor, but Vox firmly wraps an arm around his waist and helps him maintain his balance. Just a moment later, Vox also finishes with a low groan, and they both drop to their knees, panting heavily.
Valentino closes his eyes and rests his flushed forehead against the cold glass. He feels Vox hugging him tightly from behind.
“You did great, Voxy,” he sighs dreamily. He can’t be sure if Vox knows that he’s not just referring to the sex, but he refrains from elaborating on this.
Vox’s response is a gentle whisper, slightly muffled by the white fur.
“Thank you.”
