Chapter Text
“Ever thought about doing porn, Vox?” Velvet said, hopping up to perch on the corner of his desk. She swung her legs playfully.
“I beg your pardon?” Vox put down the pen and looked at her, startled by the question. She had a familiar glint in her eye that meant she was scheming.
“You know, films! You’ve got all the cameras and stuff, right?”
“Ah. Sure, but I haven’t got the time.”
“I know someone who does.” Her smile was smug.
“Everyone does. Sluts are a dime a dozen down here. I don’t need a star, Vel, I need a producer.”
“That’s what I mean, dummy. This guy’s real good—knows the business. I think you’d hit it off.”
“A bold claim, considering you thought Alastor and I would also be best chums.” That little meeting had immediately gone up in flames and left all parties with deep scars and a simmering resentment. Velvet pouted.
“That was a fluke. Would it kill you to trust me?
“Honestly? Maybe.”
“You’re such a prick. Come on. I have a good feeling about this one!”
Vox considered the idea, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He’d been thinking about expanding his media empire into the adult entertainment sector for ages but every potential partner had been a bust. They didn’t care for variety or quality—just dick in pussy in-and-out every single goddamn time. Vox wanted something that would appeal to sinners of all flavors and tastes, something that would cast a wide net and keep consumers coming back for more. He wanted to be a cut above the rest. Mediocrity simply wouldn’t do.
“Fine.”
-x-
This club was unlike any he’d seen before. The outside was neon and brazen in its advertisements for salacious delights. He could hear a thumping beat coming from inside, even from across the street. The attendees smoked reefer outside the doors and wore shirts so low and skirts so short they might as well have been belts. No expectant valets, or platters of champagne, or endlessly accommodating waitstaff.
When had the world changed so much?
He prided himself on his modernity, producing new technology to replicate the advancements on the surface, but this was out of his wheelhouse. He’d advanced his business but it appeared his social know-how was on a severe decline. He felt over-formal and out-of-place in his usual suit. Velvet looked more the part in a short, swingy dress that echoed flappers but still fit into the milieu.
How clever of Valentino to host their meeting here. Vox was already off-kilter just standing outside. The playing field would be much more even this way.
It was a smart move.
Vox liked that.
Velvet pulled him by the hand through the doors and going inside was like being punched. It was loud, the air was hazy with smoke of all sorts, and the activities were completely depraved. He’d been to a few strip joints in his life, weaseling his way out of the theaters during raids, but this was a new breed of carnal delights. Women and men in barely-there costumes did sensual acrobatics on poles and slobbering customers shoved money at them and sometimes onto them through their costumes. The dancefloor was equally lecherous with dancing so close and so graphic it might as well have been sex. The floors were sticky with spilled booze and sweat and Satan knows what else.
Vox was an alien here. He used to feel so at ease in a crowd--he always knew how to work a room and win hearts--but here he had no idea how to appeal to the masses. Multicolored lights reflected off a dazzling ball of mirrors on the ceiling that turned the relative darkness into a blinding flash. It was nauseating. Like being trapped in a damp kaleidoscope.
Velvet nudged a cold little glass into his hand and grinned. Vox peered at the liquid inside. With all the blinking lights he couldn’t even tell what color it was supposed to be.
“Cheers!” Velvet looped their arms together and clinked the glasses, sloshing a bit over the rim and onto their hands. They tossed back their shots and Vox sputtered while Velvet laughed.
“What the hell was that?” he shouted over the music, tugging a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the residue off his mouth.
“A Cowboy Cocksucker!” she replied cheerily before hurling her glass into the crowd. He couldn’t even hear the sound of it shatter over the noise.
“Warn me next time!” Ugh. The taste lingered on his tongue, strangely buttery and creamy with the familiar burn of undiluted alcohol creeping underneath. Much too sweet. It roiled in his stomach. Velvet rolled her eyes.
“You’re such a friggin’ square. Live a little!” Velvet snatched his hands in hers and tugged him further into the pulsing crowd.
She released his hands when they were deep enough in the madness and held her arms over her head as she began to dance, a slinky sway that bopped to the beat and resembled nothing of the sweeping formal dances Vox actually knew how to do. He felt sweaty already just from the hot crush of bodies on either side as he stood, frozen in place.
“C’mon! Just let the music move through you!”
“Velvet, I’m not here for dancing!”
Vox wished Velvet’s confidence and ease was infectious. Even the music was foreign to his ears—fast-paced, horn-heavy and with a techno sound he couldn’t assign to any instrument he knew. He looked at his friend helplessly. She was making no moves to guide him anywhere. A tall demoness in a sequin jumpsuit and mini-cape slithered between Vox and Velvet and placed her hands on Velvet’s waist, smiling wickedly. Velvet winked over the woman’s shoulder at Vox as the two gyrated together and vanished into the crowd.
God damn it.
He was on his own in finding Valentino, then.
He startled at hands sliding over his waist and whirled around, muscles tense. A young demon in an open button-down and low-slung pants with glitter across his exposed skin smiled at him, eyelids heavy with drugs or booze or both. The hands reached out for him again, to pull him into rocking hips, and Vox snarled wordlessly, shoving the stranger away. The man shrugged and turned to find another target, unaffected by Vox’s vehement rejection.
Vox pushed to the wall, feeling claustrophobic. Even the fucking floor was shifting with colored lights, lit from below with blinding neon squares that danced to the thumping beat. How could anyone tolerate this complete assault on the senses? There was a stair leading to a second level, and he worked his way up, desperate for a corner where he could take it all in, pushing past grinding bodies and shameless canoodlers.
He didn’t find any relief when he reached the top. The second floor was apparently reserved for fucking. Couples writhed on red leather couches, limbs locked together in various states of undress between more bodies drunkenly hump-dancing. He slid through the crowd, careful to avoid touching sweaty exposed skin and squeezed into a circular booth, tugging at the collar sticking to his neck, and sighed into his hands. He was in over his head. He should’ve gone to the exit instead—Velvet’s plan be damned.
“There you are. I was worried sick about you.” came a smooth voice. Vox looked over and saw Valentino’s red eyes peering at him from the dim. The pimp leaned forward, heart-shaped glasses catching the light and glinting. He smiled broadly. A gold tooth shone on the right side of his sharp smile—Vox wondered if it was a stylistic choice or the result of a run-in with another demon.
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over your outfit!” Vox mock-shouted. The red coat with zebra fur lining and a heart-patterned ruff over a zebra-patterned suit was one of the most garish things he’d ever laid eyes on. Valentino laughed. Red smoke billowed from between his teeth.
“That’s rich coming from business Freddy Krueger.”
Vox smiled. It was nice to have somebody willing to dish it back—blind obedience got stale after the first decade. And he had to admit—the pimp wore the suit well. It was well-tailored and fit his lean, lanky frame just right. A sliver of his broad chest was exposed and Vox tried not to stare at the way his pale lavender skin contrasted nicely against the stark black-and-white pattern.
A waitress in a skimpy one-piece lingerie set placed a whiskey on the low table. Vox took a sip.
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Velvet said you make yourself out to be a capable producer of adult content.”
Valentino grinned and blew out a long column of smoke.
“I ran a studio on the surface world for a while, made some good money on the BDSM and snuff scene. Imagine what we can make down here without all those pesky laws.”
“Why should I take a gamble on you? You’re still new.”
“How many newbies you know built seven clubs in less than a year? I’m on the rise, baby. I may be new but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my shit.” Valentino leaned forward, stubbing out his cigarette. “Look. You got the equipment, I got the workers and the know-how, and Vel’s got the drugs to keep ‘em doped up and happy. Ya can’t lose.”
It was a solid point. Vox had pulled up every scrap of information on Valentino earlier in the day and the pimp really was making quite a name for himself. Vox cocked his head thoughtfully.
“Plus, you don’t even gotta sweat a location. I’ve got a studio in the works right now—off route 666 and Brimstone Ave. Twenty floors—ten just for studios.”
“And the other ten?”
“Brothels. And a penthouse. I gotta live somewhere, might as well have a short commute.” Valentino winked and Vox smiled despite himself. The pimp was smarter than he looked.
“And how do you suggest we split the profits of this venture?”
“Straight down. Fifty-fifty.”
“Seventy-thirty. I’m supplying the equipment, marketing, and manufacture.”
“Sixty-forty for the first year and then we can renegotiate—but I know it’ll turn a mad profit. Folks down here are hungry. They wanna see something filthy and depraved.” Valentino tossed a folder on the table and it skidded in front of Vox. He picked it up and thumbed through it: scripts, set designs, and genres. Bondage, gang bangs, religious parody, teacher and student…the list went on. It made Vox flush slightly and he hoped it wasn’t noticeable in the low light. He tossed the papers back onto the table and took another sip of whiskey to stabilize himself.
“You’ve piqued my interest. Tell you what: you’ve got a deal but if I’m not seeing a 70% return on investment in a year, you’re exorcist bait.”
“Fair enough.”
“Excellent. To summarize: I, Vox, will provide you, Valentino, with the technical equipment necessary to film and record pornographic films, as well as produce physical copies to sell and establish marketing avenues for said films. I expect to see my investment return to me at thrice the value in one year’s time. Should you fail to meet this benchmark, I’m terminating our contract and seizing your assets.”
Valentino’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, amused by Vox’s businesslike air. Vox stood and held out his hand, claws glowing neon in the dark club. Valentino mirrored him, towering over the media Overlord and bending down ever so slightly to make eye contact. Vox’s skin prickled at the gesture. He hadn’t realized the pimp was so god damn tall.
“By shaking my hand, do you hereby swear on your honor and your soul to uphold the conditions of the deal as decided?”
“May Satan be my judge should I break this oath.” Valentino said smoothly, grinning wickedly as he grasped Vox’s hand. His long fingers reached down to Vox’s wrist. Blue electricity crackled around their hands and Vox felt a swell of warmth surge through his skin, creeping up his arm. A light pink glow emanated from between their fingers. The heat surged into a painful flash and vanished.
“Looking forward to doin’ business with you, boss man.” Valentino purred, pulling his hand back.
“Indeed.” Vox’s hand felt cold without Valentino’s fingers wrapped around it.
A sudden change in music drew their attention to the stage below, where a singular dancer was taking the spotlight. The crowd stilled partly to watch the performance. Vox squinted.
“Is that a man?”
“That’s Dante. Good, huh?” Vox stared at the dancer in curiosity and revulsion. The sculpted planes of his abdomen and hard lines of his back muscles were a Grecian dream. The way he moved, though...that sort of stuff was a woman's wheelhouse. Slinky, sexy. Strange.
Spellbinding.
“Want me to bring him up to ya after?” Valentino offered with a sly grin. “It’s on the house.”
“No!” The response came out with more venom than intended. Vox choked a bit on whiskey as it bubbled back up from his throat. Valentino raised his eyebrows.
“No need to shout. I can hear ya just fine.”
“Apologies.”
“S’okay.”
“I’m not that sort of person.” Vox added.
“The sort of person who fucks whores or fucks men?”
“Satan, neither, but mostly the latter.”
“Okay.” The short response felt like a barb. Vox took a long sip and let the burn fill his chest, hoping to displace the unpleasant churning in his gut. His face felt hot.
Dante swung around the pole, thighs gripping the metal tight. His skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat Vox could see from even the balcony. The man slid down until his back rested against the floor, grinning upside-down at his eager audience. His muscles rippled as he hooked his thumbs into his little glittery shorts, pulling down to reveal soft, toned skin. The hem started to drag over his bulge and Vox’s heart leapt into his throat as the base of Dante’s cock crept into view.
He looked away and busied himself with stubbing out the cigarette.
Enough. That was enough. The drink and the smoke was making him out-of-sorts. He’d done what he’d intended to do and now he was free to leave.
“I’ll have my people contact you. See you around.” He didn’t linger to hear Valentino return the farewell.
Vox shoved his way back out the club, ignoring hands that dragged over his body in invitation to dance or something more intimate. He didn’t see Velvet and frankly felt too electric to look for her. He needed fresh air. He was already in Hell but this place actually fucking felt like it.
Cigarette and reefer smoke hung outside the club in a cloud and it made him nauseous. That nasty shot Velvet had given him earlier certainly wasn’t helping matters and the surge of confidence from making a deal had dissipated.
He could still taste the smoky burn of whiskey on his tongue. Men, muscled and gyrating on silver poles, sweat dripping from their skin. Warm hands with long claws and big smiles of sharp, shiny teeth. He shook his head and tried to think of the women in short dresses he’d seen, breasts barely contained by thin fabric and smooth rounded thighs shining under the flashing lights. What sluts. They probably got hammered on cheap rail drinks and got fucked in dirty bathroom stalls, pussies dripping through their thongs when they went back out on the dance floor.
Dante.
Valentino.
Whatever.