You Gotta Pay If You Wanna Waste My Time

The smile that crosses Valentino’s features might’ve been genuine once upon a time. Oh there was mirth behind it, that much was true, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction of feeling the proverbial noose pull taught around Angel’s throat. He believed it as much as Valentino did.

He loved him.

Sashaying his way up behind Angel where he sat. Lower hands gently peeled the spider’s upper hands from their cross to hold, and upper hands coming to rest on shoulders in a gesture learned from Vox.

“Of course I do, amorcito~” One hand slipped from his shoulder to grasp Angel’s face, turning his face to look at him as smoke wafted from Val’s lips.

Idiot. No, no, letting those tears slip meant he lost. Meant he was too soft here. It would mean he’d have to accept that Val’s love may be finite, conditional. Just as one-sided and fantastical as the rest.

Thinking like that is a mistake- of course he did. He just- shouldn’t cry over this, that just makes Val’s day worse. But it’s so… hard. Especially now, feeling a touch that was product of his love for another. Cold. Calculated. Scary.

“I don’t know.” It comes before he can stop it. Unsure, thin. All of him had crumbled, he was damaged and had lost so much. His worth too had taken a serious hit. What did Val even like him for anymore? Was he anything more than a tool for his empire? Merchandise. Property. He can think of whys that’d satisfy, most of them were easier than love.

Slinking a bit closer, he scans the contents of the desk, clearly scattered in frustration. Lines. Numbers. Projections. They are supposed to mean something, he’s sure but, it was a lot different, more than simply just budgets and that kind of shit. So much of these weren’t really tangible. Not like counting through bills.

"I'm not smart," Valentino murmured back to Angel. He appreciated what Angel was trying to do. He knew he was trying to make him feel better, trying to build him back up after everything that had happened. Valentino didn't roll his eyes or brush the compliment aside. He just didn't believe it. "I've never been very smart and I've never really had to be." A quiet shrug lifted one shoulder.

"I'm sexy. I'm funny. I'm..." He paused, searching for another quality before settling on one with a faint, self-deprecating huff. "... stubborn." And for most of his life, that had been enough. His looks opened doors. His charisma kept people's attention. He knew how to read a room, how to charm people, how to make them laugh, how to make them want something from him. Even when he wasn't the smartest person in it, he'd always found another way to come out ahead.

But lately, that confidence had started to crack.

The sirens of his own imposter syndrome had become impossible to ignore, drowning out every success with the persistent feeling that he'd somehow fooled everyone into believing he belonged where he was. "I just want things to go back to normal." The words came out tired more than anything. "I wish Vox hadn't gone so fucking crazy."

His shoulders sagged. "I should've stopped him way before things got this out of hand. I just... didn't know it'd get this bad."

One hand came up to support his head, his elbow resting on the desk. With another, he absently picked at the creased corner of a sheet of paper lying in front of him. His thumb rubbed over the wrinkle several times before carefully smoothing it flat against the desk.

“Most’ve that’s true. But, it ain’t fair to call ya stupid for bein’ tossed at somethin you ain’t had to do before. Vox wouldn’t last a day runnin’ your business right off the bat. I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon enough. Bein’ stubborn just means you don’t quit when it looks shitty.”

Angel didn’t really go to much school- wasn’t an avid reader or good at numbers more than simple situations before hell, he didn’t have a lot of experience leading the way Val did, and often found that his boss was more awe-inspiring than he knew. And that said a lot as he often saw how wonderful he was- clearly Valentino knew he had good going for him. But what seeped underneath his mental floorboards- the insecurity pooling just above the gaps, that wasn’t something Angel could just brush off, mop up- no, despite it all, when Valentino shares his vulnerability, he holds it. Takes it to heart what he’s trusted with. And yet, he also can’t help but to find shock in this, Valentino’s confidence and domineering leadership usually gave him the air of knowing exactly what he was doing.

Vox. Of course it was Vox. He knew that Val and him were close, that he’d been a priority, that there was a certain level above Angel in rank. But he also knew the disdain, the selfishness rearing its head, and the more frequent instances where Vox became a source of pain. Not that he had proper evidence the whole time, but, he saw that twisting and that separation via stretching a line far too thin. It made him sure Vox pushed that inadequacy.

“I know.” Slipping to Valentino’s side, Angel lets his arms soothe over his shoulders and massage on his temples. How Vox got was no secret, and neither was the typically quick forgiveness, and stability setting in. He’d been smack dab in the middle of how Vox gets several times. This one cost him big time. It’d cost Val too, just- differently. In a way that struck a chord, made Angel care almost an embarrassing amount. But. He was never smart either, was he? So that’s not too surprising. “I dunno what ya woulda done, it’s not like what ya sayin’ isn’t normal. It just. Sucks.”

What else can he say? No guarantee normalcy like before would come quickly.

If you wanted to donate even a small amount! I’d gladly give a sketch of whatever you like! Otherwise sharing would be uber appreciated.

back again with more usfw prompts. mature audiences only; do not interact if you are a minor. add +reverse to reverse the roles. combine prompts by sending multiple at once. only use these prompts to portray consensual scenarios.

[01.] sender bends receiver over a desk and fucks them from behind.

[02.] sender presses receiver against a window and takes them from behind.

[03.] sender lifts receiver onto the kitchen counter and spreads their legs.

[04.] sender pulls receiver onto their lap in the backseat of a car, fogging up the windows.

[05.] sender fucks receiver against a wall, holding a leg up to support them.

[06.] sender and receiver have sex in a tent while camping, trying to stay quiet.

[07.] sender holds receiver steady against shower tiles, fucking them while hot water streams down their bodies.

[08.] sender pulls receiver into a mating press, folding them in half.

[09.] sender sits back and has receiver ride them reverse cowgirl.

[10.] sender pins receiver against a wall and fucks them in standing doggy position.

[11.] sender fucks receiver with their ankles on sender's shoulders.

[12.] sender and receiver have desperate sex in an expensive hotel room.

[13.] sender holds receiver tight as they bend them over a balcony late at night.

[14.] sender pushes receiver's face into the pillow while pounding them from behind.

[15.] sender fucks receiver with one arm wrapped around their neck in a loose headlock.

[16.] sender slaps receiver in the face.

[17.] sender holds both of receiver's wrists in one hand.

[18.] sender grips receiver's jaw and forces them to maintain eye contact.

[19.] sender hooks their fingers into receiver's mouth, forcing it open wider.

[20.] sender writes their name on receiver's skin with marker.

[21.] sender fucks receiver's throat until spit runs down their chin.

[22.] sender uses their fingers to muffle receiver's moans.

[23.] sender makes receiver count every thrust out loud.

[24.] sender forces receiver to thank them after every thrust/slap/hit.

[25.] sender holds receiver's jaw and makes them repeat "i'm yours" while buried inside of them.

[26.] sender leaves bruises on receiver's thighs from their tight grip.

[27.] sender manhandles receiver into a new position.

[28.] sender makes receiver grind against their shoe/boot.

[29.] sender keeps receiver on their knees with a boot between their thighs.

[30.] sender pulls receiver into the laundry room at a house party, barely drowned out by the blaring music.

[31.] sender fucks receiver in the club/bar bathroom, listening for footsteps just outside the door.

[32.] sender makes receiver watch themselves in the mirror while being fucked.

[33.] sender holds receiver's head back by the hair and lets a string of spit fall into their mouth.

[34.] sender grips receiver's hips and guides them to ride their thigh.

[35.] sender releases and reapplies pressure around receiver's neck as they edge closer to climax.

[36.] sender spanks receiver for their disobedience.

[37.] sender and receiver have aggressive hate sex.

[38.] sender accidentally says "i love you" during sex.

[39.] sender, fully clothed, fucks a naked receiver.

The neon lights of the Pride Ring club pulsed like a migraine made of cheap glitter and bad decisions, thick bass thumping through the sticky floors as demons ground against each other on the overcrowded dance floor. Mammon leaned back against the bar, his disguised form no longer present as he had forgotten to put it back on.Smoke and cheap booze hung heavy in the air, mixing with the scent of sweat and desperation that always seemed to follow these low tier dives.

He’d been right about needing this break. After the whole Fizzarolli clusterfuck and havin’ to stomach that flashy prick Asmodeus, even the Sin of Greed deserved a night where he didn’t have to count every soul or dollar. He raised a clawed hand, snapping his fingers impatiently at the bartender who practically tripped over himself to slide over another round of the strongest shit they had. The glass felt good in his grip cold, full, and paid for with someone else’s tab, naturally.

From club to club he’d gone, the disguise holding just enough to keep the crowds from swarming him like the superstar he was. One minute he was knockin’ back shots in a dive with broken stools, the next he was here, where the lights were at least a little less shitty and the service didn’t make him wanna commit immediate murder. Well… mostly. He definitely hadn’t crushed that last slow server like a roach under his boot before fixing the glamour back in place. Nope. That didn’t happen and he definitely didn't forgot to put it back on.

Mammon spun lazily on the barstool, the room blurring for a second as he downed the fresh beer in one long pull, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The crowd parted slightly near the stage as the announcer’s voice crackled over the speakers.

“And now, for your viewing pleasure… the one and only Angel Dust!”

The name hit again, scratching at the back of his mind. Porn was his turf those Fizzarolli sex bots flew off the shelves in every ring. Still, curiosity made him turn his head toward the stage, golden tooth glinting under the shifting lights as he watched the spider demon strut out under the spotlight.

Not a bad looker, he had to admit. The night was lookin’ up.

In the haze and strobing lights, Angel takes his center stage, glittering just as much as his worth in gems. Strutting in a shiny, skimpy number that took advantage of the colorful setting of the club. Flashing a toothy grin, he slowly glides across his territory, knowing full well that the audience was captivated, that he’d had countless know this was a privilege to get close like this, he was a luxury, and he knew that his skill could leave a room high on his very presence.

So naturally he acts like it. Eyes glinting with more than just the bright flashes of light that illuminate the set. Tonight he feels a bit cocky, holding a sense of importance that overshadows any aches or annoyances. Rather he drinks in the attention and awe. Sometimes the eyes are just another element to the stage, other times, they remind him just how incredible he came to be.

Of course he knows his place, knows how much he’s worth, but it doesn’t quite mean he can’t be surprised by certain presences. Like seeing an ex in your latest rager, the top-tiered royalty is like a punch to the chest: meaning, something that briefly takes your breath from you, and comes crashing all at once. By no means was this bad, no, this was a feat in and of itself to have that kind of audience show up and take a gander at the show. A story any small-time performer would tell and never be believed.

Yet, there he was, larger than life. Despite knowing a little about him, and his usual themes and shows, Mammon was painting him a picture of a hearty, jovial king. One that’d be bellowing laughter at the Fools and clowns that so frequently appeared in tandem.

Company like this no doubt needed his best. As little as he knows about politics, the biggest names are always in circulation, and impossible to miss.

Setting out a line into the sea of the crowd, Angel gauges where this interest goes, allowing his own gaze to hold, just for a moment. He glimmers like precious metals under the light, and through his routine, feels every bit like he’s a prized gem, a temptation just out of reach.

For what seems like the first time in this eternity of tomfoolery at Vox’s hands, he actually feels that he can relax. It couldn’t have been that long, but it never did feel like time moved right recently. But he wouldn’t mind a pocket that stilled the passage of time for right here. Pain subsided, a cool feeling of soft sheets, a place to lie his head, and company that wanted him in the simplest of terms. Nothing more to want.

Certainly he had no reason to lie, or even to butter him up, but he deeply adored Alastor, and let his thoughts wash up his observations. He knows Alastor isn’t always so into the open and especially outspoken lovey stuff, but he saw nothing wrong with this.

“Probably not.”

Puns included. God no, he can’t say those things to any outsider. That messes with his image. Maybe a few friends can groan but that’s about it. And talking about lovingly plucking himself apart for another? Fat chance, absolutely not. Alastor had a way about letting his less palatable sides come to light. “I don’t think I’d really say much of this stuff. Most I give really comes when I get paid, and I’m sure you c’n probably guess how that’d be a lil different.”

Alastor isn’t stupid, he probably knows, but it isn’t a bad idea to confirm. And he doesn’t stare into their eyes like he does here, if at all.

“I meant it, though, really. I don’t say that kind of thing to other fellas. I don’t exactly look at em like I look at you. I think you c’n take it to heart a lil, too. I ain’t lyin’ about how I like you, n’ how pretty yer eyes are.”

A little heat floods his cheeks, oh what a good thing Alastor can’t fully see how saturated his face is from where he peeks from. He isn’t one to say such sappy things, but it was the truth, and an honest answer to those doubts was the best way to go.

“I wouldn’t give nobody my eyes either, you c’n rest good at night knowin’ this too.” A lighthearted addition gives Angel his usual playful air. All the same, he solidifies his response. His fingers help feel around Alastor’s own, brushing over more dangerous claws, and each crease, every segmented knuckle.

It takes him some time, investing himself in the words that Angel Dust seems to be saying to confirm what he wants to believe: that everything the other is saying is sincere, uncoerced by some looming third party in order to keep Alastor complacent in his company - or something meant to get the radio demon to drop his guard before being effectively used as a pawn in a grander scheme.

It would not be the first time.

Eased, however, by the honest way the other speaks, Alastor sets his head back down, humming low in his throat as he finds a contentment in not thinking very hard about it. (Difficult for someone like him who typically overthinks everything and anything, looking for ulterior motives.) Here, instead, he indulges in the warmth of their connected hands, finding the touch to be so basic and unimpressive; unassuming. And yet, satisfying by a grand measure, even as Angel's final statement has an inherent falsehood in it.

Of course he has to share. Perhaps not in Angel's sincerity, but in his time; his presence.

The point, however, has been made. And it is not worth beating the dead horse while he is appreciating the precious time they have.

"Tell me then," Alastor says after a few moments of comfortable silence. "What do you see awaiting us in the future?" His ears lift, knowing that it might be a slightly touchy subject - not necessarily because he is relating it to their relationship and only that... but because he knows Angel may still have aspirations of redemption. Or something like it.

"When all of this is... out of the way. What then, for you?"

When Valentino is no longer an issue. When Angel is wrested free from the confines of Vee Tower for longer than just an evening. When Alastor is no longer bound by his own deal and responsibilities.

"Do you see yourself still thriving down here, or... Do you have your sights set higher?"

Perhaps with Angel's answer, he too can then set some... expectations of his own and determine whether or not longevity is really in the cards, or if this is fleeting; like the subtle feeling of a cool breeze on an otherwise hot, stifling day. There and then gone.

It is of no surprise there is a little hesitation, hell, the history of Alastor’s luck with that sort if thing gave him even more reason than the common occurrence of general insincere passes for some benefit.

After all, so often everything had a price to it. Flattery got someone into a person’s clutches, in a debt or with a chain around their neck. He knows this song and dance. Performed the choreography, had the routine down to a science as it were. There was no reason to lie here. Any white lie or flattery was hardly pressured on him, but, things like this, if anything, he could craft something special. Sure he had been a bit cliche admiring his eyes, but he’d meant it. And even those paying him don’t request anything so soft or easy. He can say for sure that he doesn’t toss around sweet nothings like that.

When Alastor started, he expected something different, the subject was directed back to something that was buried a bit, in this moment of still it was a good chance to brush it off and revisit.

After blinking away his few seconds of surprise, he meets the question head on, despite his usual avoidance for things serious- this was pretty important. Not only that, it was only fair Alastor had his answer, things like this? It was a two way sort of thing. He deserved something honest.

“I guess I wouldn’t know about anythin’ super specific, I never been great at seein’ a future past maybe needin’ to plan out hits or schedules. That ain’t really what yer askin’ though.” A short awkward laugh stalls like a stubborn engine, like it’d just needed that one extra push to turn over. Maybe it was admitting again his failure, or perhaps it just brought forth the idea again that it was a lost cause, all for nothing after all they’d done, but he almost feels guilty when the words leave his mouth again.

“I think I accepted that th’ whole redemption, all that ascension… ain’t really for someone like me. And. I been a bit averse to the idea. Leavin’- I don’t wanna leave ya. I don’t wanna leave Nuggs either.”

Truth be told, he had a hard time stomaching that when the idea turned into something more tangible. He’d miss Cherri, Husk, Niffty- sure it meant he’d see Pentious again, but, selfish as it sounded he’d much rather he rejoin the ranks down here. His father always knew he was too soft, and it wasn’t like he can deny that when he can feel that unpleasant tightness in his chest over something as small as a hypothetical.

"Angie, I'm not cut out for this CEO bullshit."

Valentino leaned back so far in the desk chair that the front wheels lifted clear off the floor for a second. The chair teetered dangerously before rocking forward again. "Budgeting, stocks, projections..." He waved a hand dismissively at the mountain of paperwork scattered across the desk. "I swear, every meeting is just somebody showing me a graph and expecting me to care."

Slinking a bit closer, he scans the contents of the desk, clearly scattered in frustration. Lines. Numbers. Projections. They are supposed to mean something, he’s sure but, it was a lot different, more than simply just budgets and that kind of shit. So much of these weren’t really tangible. Not like counting through bills.