#human!voxval

And after all the foreplay, all the drama, they lay together in what's nothing less then all-encompassing fervor. It's hot, and it's great, but it's mechanical and then...

Val pulls back for something as simple as a breath. And Vox chases, he chases without a hint of the coy playfulness that should come with such an act.

No, instead, it's a pursuit full of admission. Don't go. I want more of you. I can play nice, see? —His kiss turns soft, and he drags his fingers to trace the line of his jaw, the stubble that frames that gorgeous face— Stay with me. I can't look away. You're a work of art. And I need you.

...Suddenly, as much as Val loves to pretend, it's not a joke anymore. Like a wild fire tamed to a little candle, sheepish, yet alive all the same. Pretty, and dim compared to it's previous rage; quivering to break at the smallest gust of wind, were hands not bound to encasing it's heart. Hands that Vox replaces with his own, that cup rather than enclose, admire rather than hide, and love instead of fear.

And Valentino is in awe. That such a merciless, cruel bigot like Vox would both show his own red, beating heart to him like this, and tend so gently to Valentino's own in the same breath. In the same kiss. In the same deep, helpless look in his eye that turns Val's world and his insides upside down.